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THIS NUMBER CONTAINS 

MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


By WILLIAM T. NICHOLS, 

Author of “The Ghost of Rhodes House,” “ Applied Art,” etc. 


COMPLETE. 



MONTHLY MAGA 


IIPPIICOTTS, contents N 0i 334 . 


MY STRANGE PATIENT 

Ethics and Economics 
French Roads .... 

At Sunset (Quatrain) . 

The Train for Tarrow’s . 

The King of Rome 
Inside New Guinea 
Carroll’s Cows .... 

The Heritage of the Muses (Poem) 
Domestic Service 
Bird-Song (Quatrain) . 

The Highways of the World . 

How they Differ 


William T. Nichols 

Fred. Perry Powers 
Theodore Stanton . 
Martha T. Tyler 
Virginia Woodward Cloud 
Elizabeth S. Perkins 
John Paid Bocock . 

E. L. C. . . 


Edith M. Thomas . 
Mary C. Himgerford 
Clinton Scollard 
Marion Manville Poje 
Minnie J. Conrad . 


433-530 
531 
538 

541 

542 
548 

555 
561 

565 

566 

569 

570 
5 76 


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Copyright, 1895, by J. B. Lippincott Company. Entered at Philadelphia Post-Office as second-class matter. 


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MY -STRANGE PATIENT 


B1 V 

WILLIAM T. NICHOLS, 

AUTHOR OF “THE GHOST OF RHODES HOUSE,” “APPLIED ART,” ETC. 








»**#•»•!.«»*•**»***<»****• 


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PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 




Copyright, 1895, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 


LIPPINCOTT'S 

MONTHLY M agazine - 

OCTOBER, 1895. 

MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


I. 

C HANCE, or, to speak more accurately, a series of those jests of 
fate we call chance, made me one of the ship’s company of the 
stanch clipper Mary Peck, bound from New York to Valparaiso. A 
week before that bright windy March day when she spread her broad 
wings and caught the ocean swell off Sandy Hook, nothing had been 
further from my thoughts than a voyage round the Horn. A trip by 
balloon, an exploration of African wilds, or a raid on the North Pole 
would have seemed a proposition as feasible as this venture to the 
southward, to a young physician struggling ineffectually to prove that 
the community had need of him and that the years of preparation for 
his profession had not been thrown away. 

It was chance the first that Captain Abner Peck should come back 
from a voyage to the west coast to find the wife of his bosom in failing 
health, and to resolve to take her with him on his next run to the 
farther side of the sister continent. It was chance the second that, in 
his anxiety for his spouse, the skipper should decide to ship a surgeon : 
as part owner of the Mary Peck, he was entitled to some luxuries. It 
was chance the third that the captain and I, Alfred Morris, M.D., 
should meet at the house of a friend in the New England city in which 
I was striving to earn my daily bread ; and it may have been chance 
the fourth that we fraternized with uncommon cordiality. The seaman 
told me something of his plans; I confided to him the story of a few 
skirmishes of my up-hill fight. The talk ended in his making a defi- 
nite proposition. I asked forty-eight hours to consider it — and accepted 
it in twelve. In going to sea I gave up little. A few patients, chronic 
as to maladies and uncertain as to payments, would be forced to seek a 
new medical adviser : in exchange for them, I bargained for passage on 
a fine ship, forgetfulness of the landlord bugbear, and pay sufficient to 

435 


436 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


supply spending-money at the ports we might touch at and to bring me 
home with a little loose silver in my pockets. 

Once the die was cast, the thought of the voyage filled me with 
glee ; for it offered a first prospect of adventure, though from boyhood 
mine had been an existence of vicissitudes. Left an orphan in child- 
hood, I had grown up into my teens under the care of an uncle, an 
elderly bachelor, who treated me with a mixture of the fondness he felt 
for kinsfolk and the distrust he manifested toward those debarred from 
the suffrage by circumstance of age or sex. He did not understand 
children, and he feared women. He owned a small factory in Rodney- 
town, a village on the New England coast which had closed its days 
of progress about the middle of the century, but which still maintained 
activity enough to keep it alive. My uncle seldom attempted to inter- 
fere with my amusements, which, as it happened, generally took me 
out of his sight and hearing, thereby, no doubt, gaining his tacit ap- 
proval. I was a rather solitary little fellow in those days, with a liking 
for prowling about the fields and along the beach or paddling a crazy 
raft up and down the shallow tidal streams in which the neighborhood 
abounded, and on the banks of the largest of which Rodneytown was 
built. Behind the village rose a long low ridge, and beyond that in 
turn was a rolling country, well wooded and fairly fertile. Between 
the ridge and the beach stretched lowlands fringed on the seaward side 
with salt marshes, and penetrated in many places by the tidal creeks 
of which mention has been made. For farming purposes the low- 
lands were of little value, and at no time had they many dwellers. In 
fact, to this day there is scarcely a habitation to be found from one end 
of the plain to the other, though a little way up the elope of the ridge 
which bounds it are several clusters of farm-houses. 

I found a fascination of a kind, in this waste region, which seemed 
to belong hardly more to the land than to the sea; and I spent many 
happy days exploring it. Here and there, rising from the marsh, were 
rocky hillocks, steep-sided, and dotted with dwarfed trees and bushes 
wherever, bv accident, sufficient soil had collected to give the roots a 
covering. On one of these islands — as they may be called for want of 
a better term — I discovered a house, old, and long untenanted, but not 
dilapidated. Why its builder had chosen its site as he had was not 
to be explained, for he had long been dead and buried; but his work 
remained to prove that he, like most of his contemporaries, had been 
an honest constructor. This old house enchanted my fancy. To the 
east it commanded a view of the bay, a broad expanse of water sheltered 
from ocean gales by a long cape jutting out from the mainland some 
miles to the south and then curving so as to extend almost parallel with 
the line of the inner beach. To the west was the plain, and beyond it 
the ridge. To the north and south was the amphibious region where 
marsh and dry land joined. But the great attraction of the place was 
its isolation. Nobody dreamed of invading my retreat, and there I 
could imagine myself monarch of all I surveyed, ruling a realm so 
deserted that the very loneliness of it, for which I loved it, sometimes 
terrified me. 

My uncle’s death, cutting short my stay in Rodneytown, led to my 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


437 


removal to the far different scenes of a small city in central Illinois, 
where dwelt another of my father’s brothers, a childless widower. He 
was an austere man, intensely practical, and well calculated to cure me 
of the romantic moods I had learned to cherish, had we but come to 
terms of affection. Unluckily, however, we had too little in common 
to reach even amity. At eighteen I was told that the time for study 
was over, that the time for toil had arrived. He took me into his shop 
— he was a merchant in a small way — and for a year strove zealously 
to discover some trace of business capacity in his assistant. Failing 
utterly in this, he called me before him, gravely passed his verdict on 
my manifold deficiencies, and inquired whether I had any plans in 
mind. 

One of my friends — a few had been acquired, perhaps by force of 
circumstances — had entered a medical school in a neighboring city; 
and, on the spur of the moment, I elected to follow his example. My 
guardian — he held that post in virtue of the small estate left to me by 
my first protector — offered no objections, though he gave formal notice 
that the funds in his possession would hardly suffice to do more than 
carry me through the school. Undeterred by the warning, I matricu- 
lated, and for two years studied faithfully, receiving a degree at the 
end of the second, and thus becoming entitled legally to experiment 
on humanity. As, by virtue of strict economy, there was still some 
money to my credit, I determined to spend a year at a famous Eastern 
school ; and I carried out the plan, only to meet one of the keenest of 
disappointments, at the close of the period, through failing to secure a 
coveted appointment as a hospital interne. 

Just at this time, too, came news of the death of my uncle. He 
bequeathed to me a letter of sound advice and a thousand dollars. By 
means of the latter — and disregarding the former — I spent a fourth 
year in study, this time selecting another of the great institutions. 
The balance left at the end of the season served to equip a modest office 
in the city, in which Captain Peck found me, just entering my twenty- 
fifth year, with resources exhausted, and hopes blighted by the dreary 
waiting for paying patients who did not come. Add to these troubles 
a share of anxiety as to my health, and one can understand the willing- 
ness with which I became surgeon of the Mary Peck. 

She was almost a new ship, Maine-built, Yankee-officered, and 
manned by a crew representing many nations. She was of about a thou- 
sand tons’ burden, and was freighted with a cargo of considerable value. 
Her living-quarters aft were comfortable, if not luxurious, and the 
cabin fare was excellent. The captain and his wife, the two mates and 
I, made up the population of that part of the vessel. 

The Mary Peck’s run to the equator was made in circumstances 
of the sort to delight both the skipper and the pair who were making 
their first deep-water voyage. Barring a sharp gale soon after she 
cleared the coast, the ship encountered fine weather down to the line, 
with plenty of wind, but not too much of it, — a very important quali- 
fication in the eyes of the novices. As the days grew warmer Mrs. 
Peck throve amazingly, the color came back to her cheeks, and her 
strength increased, until we almost forgot that she had begun the voyage 


438 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


an invalid. She herself credited Old Ocean with her improvement, 
and the captain was much of her way of thinking, while my notion of 
the matter was that the companionship of her tall, bronzed husband 
counted for more with the little woman than sea -air and sunshine com- 
bined. At all events, however, the surgeon’s post promised to be a 
sinecure. 

To the line, as has been said, Fortune showered her favors upon 
us, but no sooner was our prow cleaving the waters of the Southern 
hemisphere than the gifts of the fickle goddess ceased. For a fortnight 
we had calms or breezes so faint as hardly to give the ship steerage- 
way. Yet she contrived to crawl on, daily putting some leagues of 
her road behind her ; for her master was a smart seaman and made 
the most of every cat’s-paw. Nevertheless it was slow work, and all of 
us longed for cooler days and fresh winds with an invigorating keen- 
ness in their rush. 

I was leaning against the rail one night, lingering beyond the usual 
hour and loath to quit the coolness of the deck, when the captain came 
up, and, standing beside me, lighted a cigar. The night was still and 
moonlit, and the ship lay almost motionless. 

“ Still ocean holiday weather,” said I. “ Do you look for much 
more of it?” 

“ I hope not,” said he, emphatically. “ It’s the sort of holiday 
that’s worse than labor.” 

“ And when steam discounts canvas.” 

“ Yes,” he observed ; “ it’s enough to make one pray for engine 
and screw. But perhaps I ought not to complain. My wife certainly 
seems none the worse for this drifting in the tropics.” 

“ She stands the heat well, no doubt of that,” said I. “ In fact, 
she takes most kindly to the sea. I wonder you’ve never had her with 
you before.” 

“ Wait till we’re on the other side of the Horn, and then see if 
your opinion’s the same.” 

“ It will be a long time to wait, at this rate of sailing. So far I’ve 
had only one cause to find the ocean disappointing. I’ve looked for- 
ward to all sorts of incidents, but not one has occurred.” 

“ Wait till we’re in the Pacific before you reach conclusions. By 
the way, what manner of incident might you crave?” 

“ Anything not too perilous. You know the list better than I.” 

“I’m willing to avoid them all this voyage,” he answered, with 
a laugh. “ Still, if any excitement occurs you shall be notified 
promptly.” 

“ On the strength of the promise, I’ll turn in,” said I, and, leaving 
him to finish his cigar, made my way below, to toss and turn in my 
bunk for a time, and then to fall into a restless slumber. Presently, 
as it seemed, from the drowsiness which was heavy upon me, though 
the summons was loud enough to wake the soundest of sleepers, the 
steward rapped upon the door. The daylight in the state-room proved 
that, after all, the night had passed only too quickly. 

u What’s the matter?” I called out, convinced that the man must 
have blundered and called me at least an hour too early. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


439 


“ The cap’n requests you to step on deck to onct,” he answered. 

“ What for ?” I demanded ; but the steward had gone his way, and 
there was no answer. 

Pulling on a pair of trousers and a jacket, I hastened to obey the 
skipper’s orders. As I reached the deck I caught sight of a little 
knot of men about a figure lying motionless on a grating. Kneel- 
ing at the side of the prostrate man was a woman, and a little forward 
two strange sailors were surrounded by half a dozen of the ship’s 
crew. 

“ Here’s business for you, doctor,” was Captain Peck’s greeting. 
“ That incident you were longing for last night has occurred fast 
enough.” 

“ What’s happened?” I asked. “ Who are these people?” 

“ We’ve just picked them up,” he answered. “ Their boat is tow- 
ing alongside now. They are from a small Portuguese steamer, the 
Nina or Nita, from Lisbon for Rio, destroyed by fire two days ago. 
There were four of them in the boat we fell in with, two sailors and 
two passengers. That man lying there has a broken leg, — got it by a 
fall in leaving the steamer, tumbled into the boat, in fact, — and he 
seems to be in a mighty bad way. We hoisted him aboard as easily as 
possible, but he fainted from pain while we were doing it. He needs 
your attention badly.” 

And truly his need was great, — a fracture of the tibia and two 
days in an open boat with only the rudest treatment for his injury. 
A glance at the swollen limb was enough to tell the story of his hours 
of torture. 

He was a tall, fine-looking man, of middle age, with well-cut fea- 
tures and a close-cropped dark beard. His dress, disordered as it was, 
showed him to be a person of wealth. 

“ Best get him below at once,” said I. “ He’s in for a siege, no 
doubt of that.” 

“ Put him in the state-room forward of the first mate’s,” said the 
captain. " Bear a hand here, a couple of you fellows.” 

Two of the sailors came aft, and carefully raised the injured man. 
With the skipper and myself assisting in the operation, he was carried 
to the quarters assigned him. He moaned feebly as the men lifted him 
from the grating, and again as they felt their way down the companion- 
stairs, but, on the whole, the job was well done. Then came the labor, 
which was particularly my own, of reducing the inflammation, of getting 
the leg into splints, and of making the patient as comfortable as cir- 
cumstances permitted. At last I was able to report that, all things 
considered, he was doing very well. 

“ That’s good news,” said the captain, heartily. “ By the way, did 
you learn anything about him or the loss of the steamer?” 

“ Only that, though he is a Brazilian, he speaks English like a 
Briton. The lady, who seems to be a relation of his, knows nothing 
but her own tongue. She’s with him now, watching him, although 
there’s nothing for her to do.” 

“ You learned his name?” 

“Yes; Perez.” 


440 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


“So much I’ve extracted from the sailors,” said Captain Peck, 
“ but very little else, except that, when the rush was made to leave 
the steamer, our friends were almost left behind. Most of the crew 
and passengers got away in three other boats. The one we met was 
the last to pull away from the steamer. That’s the limit of information 
to be had from the men.” 

“ I suppose that nothing has been seen of the other boats ?” 

“Nothing. I’ll do my best to find them, but it’s not likely we’ll 
come across them. The people we have on board lost trace of them 
the first night. God pity the poor souls crowded into those three 
boats !” 

The captain was as good as his word, and, aided by a light breeze 
which came as opportunely as if designed to assist in this errand of 
mercy, the Mary Peck cruised about in search of the flotilla. Nothing 
was seen of it, however, and when, after lying becalmed for two days 
more, her sails were again filled by the wind, her bow was turned to the 
south, and once more she was headed for her destination. Long after- 
ward it was learned that an English ship had rescued the occupants of 
the boats on the day following that on which the steamer was burned, 
and had carried them to London. 

As we drew into cooler latitudes Perez mended steadily, although, 
as may be imagined, his recovery was a tedious business. Yet, in view 
of his condition when he was hoisted to the deck of the Mary Peck, 
neither he nor I could find cause for complaint. For six weeks he 
was confined to his state-room, and in that time I came to know him 
well and to like him exceedingly. Of himself he said little, but, bit 
by bit, I learned something of his history. His father was a Brazil- 
ian, but his mother was English, and the greater part of his youth was 
spent at English schools. Since attaining manhood he had lived near 
Rio, making an occasional trip to Europe. The lady in his charge on 
the homeward voyage which had been interrupted so disastrously was 
a cousin, who, after some years in Portugal, was returning to her own 
country. She was not very young, and her beauty was of the faded 
sort. In spite of the drawback that neither she nor Mrs. Peck was 
mistress of the other’s tongue, the two women managed to strike up a 
great friendship and to comfort one another vastly in the days of great 
gales and high seas we encountered off the cape. But the ship fought 
her way through the storms of that stormiest of regions into the 
Pacific, and at last her anchor was dropped in Valparaiso Bay, after a 
passage which, south of the line, had been prolonged far beyond her 
master’s expectations. 

There had been no opportunity to transfer Perez to a vessel bound 
for Rio, and perforce he had been carried to the Chilian port. On the 
day of our arrival, however, he and his companion bade us farewell 
and were sent aboard a steamer which, an hour later, bore them out of 
the bay. Our parting was that of friends who could hardly hope to 
meet again. Yet it was fated that a meeting should come, and that, 
too, at an early date. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


441 


II. 

Again the Mary Peck was ploughing the waves of the Atlantic. 
Favoring breezes on the Pacific, a fierce but short-lived storm olf the 
Horn, then a half-gale which drove her at top speed along that roughest 
of ocean highways, — such was the story of the beginning of her home- 
ward voyage. But now the cape had been rounded and the ship was 
pressing northward toward warmer latitudes and less tempestuous seas. 
Everybody aft was in the best of spirits, as I well remember. 

It was evening. Mrs. Peck and I were reading in the cabin, when 
the captain left the deck and joined us. The hanging lamp showed 
drops of spray glistening on his cap and heavy jacket, and no wonder, 
for a strong, keen wind was sweeping up out of the southwest, and, 
though the ship was running before it, one could guess that her deck 
was far from dry. 

“ You two are looking cheery and home-like down here,” said the 
skipper. “ I tell you a warm cabin’s no bad place on a night like this. 
There’s an edge to this breeze that, even if we miss half the force of 
it, cuts to the bone. How’d you like to be standing watch, doctor?” 

“ This is better, thank you,” said I ; “ better for the present, at 
least. I dare say it won’t be long before the deck will have the 
preference.” 

“Not if our luck holds. Do you believe in luck, doctor?” 

“ Yes, most firmly,” said I. The question recalled most unpleas- 
antly the tribulations of life on shore which, for a little, I had shaken 
off, but to which a return was inevitable. 

“And so do I,” said the skipper. “Still, with Mary with us we 
can’t meet any great misfortune. Old Ocean wouldn’t be malicious 
enough to build up her health only to make her fate a shipwreck.” 

His eyes met his wife’s for an instant : the look on the faces of the 
two revealed that, notwithstanding their wedding-day was far behind 
them, they were still lovers. 

“ Take off those wet things, dear,” she said. “ Surely you can 
spare us a half-hour. You’re not needed on deck all the time.” 

“I’ll be with you in two minutes,” he answered, cheerily. His 
hand was on the latch of his state-room door, when there came a shock 
which almost knocked him from his feet. A tremor ran through the 
fabric of the vessel. Then there were shouts from above and the noise 
of men running along the deck. 

Mrs. Peck started from her seat, her hands clasped, and her lips 
moving, though no sound came from them. I had sprung after the 
captain toward the companion-way, but he turned upon me fiercely. 

“ Look after my wife,” he cried. “ Don’t leave her, man. Back 
with you.” 

And back I went, though truly it was little in my power to com- 
fort her. Yet I strove to reassure her, as if a frightened woman could 
be cheered by an equally frightened man. Neither of us knew what had 
happened. In our ignorance we could only dread horrors none the 
less terrifying for the indefiniteness of them. So for many minutes we 
sat, pale and trembling at the prospect of dangers we knew not what. 


442 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


But the motion of the ship and the tell-tale compass showed that she 
was still speeding on her course, and after a time the fact began to 
revive our courage. At last — how long the interval seemed there is no 
need of relating — Captain Peck rejoined us. 

“ What was it, Abner ?” gasped his wife. “ What was it?” 

a Here, here, that won’t do,” he answered. “ Don’t worry. We’re 
still afloat, and likely to keep afloat, which is more to the point.” 

“ Then, what has happened ?” I broke in. 

“ We struck something. Just what we don’t know, but something 
quite awash, for nobody saw anything of it. Whatever it was, we must 
have sent it to the bottom. None of the men caught even a glimpse 
of the thing as we went over it.” 

“ A derelict ?” 

u Perhaps. However, we’re not badly damaged, so far as can be 
discovered. There’s no danger.” 

With a great sigh of relief, his wife sank back in her seat. Her 
husband bent over her and kissed her. 

“ Don’t let her get down-hearted, doctor,” said he. “ She’s a brave 
little woman if she has only half a chance. Remember, both of you, 
we’re not sinking, but afloat in as sound a ship as ever was sent oif the 
ways. And now I’ve got to go on deck again.” 

In spite of the confidence he felt, or assumed, there was little 
rest for us that night. Morning, to be sure, showed the vessel appar- 
ently uninjured, at least to unskilled eyes, though one could not help 
noticing that the faces of the mates were unusually grave, and that 
the men talked earnestly among themselves. The pumps had been 
going during the night, as I knew, and now, at intervals, the clank 
of them penetrated the cabin. Nevertheless, the captain again and 
again declared that there was no danger, until by force of repetition he 
succeeded in allaying the fears of his wife. 

We held the breeze for three days. Then followed a gale of twenty 
hours’ duration, which left behind it an ugly sea. The next morning 
the pumps were going steadily. The cold had moderated sensibly, and 
from under the lee of a boat I enjoyed a pipe and watched the men at 
the brakes. After a little the skipper, who had been standing near the 
wheel, crossed over to me. 

“ Doctor,” he said, “ I’ve something to tell you. It is better for 
you to learn it now than to come at it after a while by guess-work. 
We’ve changed our course and are headed for Rio.” 

“Then the ship’s injury is greater than you supposed?” I asked, 
with all my old terrors aroused. 

“ Yes. We have been leaking forward ever since the collision. The 
pitching and rolling in yesterday’s blow increased the trouble and 
made my duty clear. I want you to understand this and to aid me in 
keeping up my wife’s spirits. Make her believe that seeking port for 
repairs is more of an extra precaution than a necessity.” 

“ I’ll do my best,” I promised, and, though my success was doubt- 
ful, I honestly strove to aid the captain’s designs. Of the anxious 
days of that run to Rio there is little to record ; but reach it we did at 
length, with the pumps going, the men almost worn out, and the ship 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


443 


showing a good deal less freeboard than she had displayed in the Pacific. 
We learned, soon after our arrival, that Perez w r as out of the city, and 
that it was uncertain when he would return. The work of repairs on 
the ship was pushed, for her master was desirous to lose as little time 
as possible. There were some cases of fever reported among the ship- 
ping, and once or twice I was called aboard vessels to prescribe for men 
lying ill of the disease. I doubt whether my ministrations had much 
effect, Yellow Jack being then more of a stranger to me than was the 
case somewhat later. While spending a day ashore I was seized by the 
fever. I was hurried to a hospital, there to fight my battle with the 
grim enemy. The struggle was so close, as I learned afterward, that 
probably it would have gone against me, had not Perez, returning to 
Rio, got news of my attack and secured for me all that money could 
command in the way of treatment and attendance; and when I was 
convalescent he took me to his fine estate in the highlands. The Mary 
Peck by this time was well on her way to New York, her captain easy 
in the knowledge that he had left his surgeon in good hands. 

Of the weeks passed as Perez’s guest I shall ever cherish a grateful 
remembrance. His kindness was unvarying, his generosity unlimited. 
He had obtained a very fair notion of my slender prospects, and gladly 
would have aided me to seek fortune in Brazil, had not the physicians 
strongly advised against my attempting to remain there. Accordingly, 
he was forced to content himself with arrangements for my passage 
home, which he decided should be made by way of England. He 
would have done more, and pressed upon me money, which would have 
been a welcome addition to my resources, had I not refused to increase 
my obligations to him. 

“ Obligations !” he objected. “ Don’t let me hear you mention 
obligations. Fate has brought us together twice. You think that on 
the second occasion you have become my debtor, but I know that on the 
first I incurred a debt to you which can never be liquidated. How 
would I have fared had I not received skilful treatment after the crew 
of your ship hoisted me out of the boat in which I had suffered tor- 
tures ? It was the one chance in the hundred that the rescuing vessel 
carried a surgeon. There was fate in it; there was fate in the accident 
which drove the Mary Peck to Rio. It may be destiny that even for 
a third time we shall be of service the one to the other.” 

“ I trust that if the opportunity comes it will be mine,” said I ; 
“ but our lives promise to be spent far apart.” 

“ Even so. But the chain of destiny sometimes links the most 
remote.” 

Evidently a feeling possessed him that our connection w r as not to 
end with the good-byes spoken on the steamer which was to bear me 
from Rio. He asked many questions about my plans, until from the 
answers he perceived that I was turning homeward almost without an 
idea of the manner of existence before me. Then the talk drifted 
to the sorry experiences of my professional career and to the errant 
character of my boyhood existence. He was a sympathetic listener to 
a description of the old village on the New England coast and the 
lonely house, surrounded by the marsh, which had been my favorite 


444 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


retreat. Under the spur of memory, I told him much of the aban- 
doned dwelling and of its isolation. 

“ If ever I come to be a misanthrope,” I declared, “ let me retire 
thither, assured that I may remain undisturbed so long as I choose. 
Yet, if my mood changes, it will be but a step, and again I shall be 
among my fellows.” 

“ Truly an admirable hermitage,” he observed. 

“ Indeed it is. The villagers take no interest in the old place. 
Though near them, it is out of their way, and there is no reason why 
they should visit it. They are not people of the sort to waste energy 
in tramping through salt bogs. A man who settled there might feel 
tolerably certain that they would not attempt to intrude upon him.” 

We were silent for a time, but at length I asked whether he might 
not visit the United States. 

“ It is hardly on the cards,” he answered. “ It is not probable 
that I shall quit Brazil for some time to come. I have interests to be 
guarded which would suffer in my absence. The country is on the eve 
of a revolution; the empire is doomed, and its fall cannot be long 
delayed. Under the surface there are plots and counterplots. I have 
striven to keep clear of them, and have succeeded, so far as active par- 
ticipation is concerned ; but I have had knowledge of a number of 
them, and many of my closest friends are deeply involved. The nation’s 
need is a strong, stable government. God knows how we are to obtain 
it, or what the history of the next few years will be.” 

Before we separated for the night an agreement had been made 
which afterward seemed curious enough, though at the time we entered 
into it with the utmost gravity. It was, in brief, that in case either 
had an urgent request to make of the other, and the request was made 
by letter, there should be used, either as a signature or appended to the 
writer’s name, a symbol, a Greek cross with three dots ranged verti- 
cally to the right of it. Perhaps it was Perez’s earnestness as we 
talked over the matter which prevented me from appreciating its 
strangeness. A little reflection might have persuaded me that we were 
wasting our breath, for it was difficult to understand how I, in my 
poverty and powerlessness, could ever aid one who possessed so much 
of the resources I lacked ; but, under the influence of my friend’s 
grave face and words, a pledge to heed his call was given as solemnly 
as if the alliance were one of equals. 

The following day, a passenger on the steamer Bedouin, I leaned 
upon the vessel’s rail and watched the Brazilian highlands growing 
less and less in the distance. 


III. 

The Bedouin, her size and accommodations considered, had but a 
small number of cabin passengers. All toldjthere were hardly a score, 
including six or seven women, who were invisible save when the sea 
was at its smoothest. Even when they joined the rest at dinner we 
barely filled two tables. Among the men were two or three English- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


445 


men, a half-dozen Brazilians, a Frenchman, and two Germans. The 
women apparently represented almost as great a variety of nationalities. 
Only two of them had any claims to youth. In the matter of beauty 
the average was low. The most ardent of wooers of old buccaneering 
days, when suits were pressed with rare despatch, would have turned 
a very St. Anthony at sight of such an array of elderly femininity as 
the Bedouin presented. 

The two girls, however, were of uncommon attractiveness. One 
was a Brazilian maiden, a fine brunette, with a figure inclined to the stat- 
uesque in its outlines. The other, so nearly as I could discover from 
an occasional glimpse of her in the course of the first two days of the 
voyage, was a slender, graceful girl, brown-haired, and neither very 
dark nor very light of complexion. She was travelling in company 
with an older woman, attendance upon whom kept her fully employed 
for forty-eight hours cut of port. Then, as the weather was fine, the 
pair appeared on deck and joined the party under the big awning aft. 
Each carried a book, but it was noticeable that, while the elder read 
steadily and rapidly, with the business-like air of a hardened devourer 
of novels, the girl often dropped her book upon her lap and let her 
gaze stray across the wide expanse of blue water. Seemingly she took 
little heed of her fellow- voyagers, a group of whom were chatting not 
a dozen feet from her. It was an excellent opportunity to study her 
without her knowledge — as I believed ; and the longer I watched the 
young woman the more interested in her did I become. 

She was slender, as has been said, and carried herself so erectly as 
to appear taller than she really was, her height being, in fact, but a trifle 
above the average of her sex. Her forehead was broad, and her hair 
worn low upon it. Her features were good. The nose was straight 
and finely chiselled, the chin delicately rounded. Her mouth was 
larger than the canons of art demanded, and now and then the lips 
were set in a line which indicated no lack of firmness. It was not a 
stubborn mouth, however, even when the thoughts of its mistress 
seemed to be least pleasant. The face was inclined to paleness, relieved 
by a faint flickering color which came and went on her cheeks, even as 
she sat watching the sea. The eyes gave her strongest claim to beauty. 
They were clear, dark brown eyes shaded by long lashes. 

As a whole, the face was attractive, but it was no easy task to class 
its degree of pulchritude. Absolute beauty it did not attain ; “ pretty” 
was clearly not the adjective to apply to it. “ Handsome” seemed to 
be closer to the truth, though even that word did not quite satisfy my 
judgment. But I did not ponder long over the point, for I soon 
found myself fully decided that the girl was, in appearance at least, a 
very charming young person. 

Burroughs, a British youth with whom I had struck up an ac- 
quaintance in the smoking-room, crossed the deck to her chair, and 
talked with her for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the novel-reader 
merely looking up from her book on his approach and promptly re- 
turning to its perusal after answering his greeting. I envied Bur- 
roughs's acquaintance with the girl, although neither he nor she seemed 
to derive any great entertainment from their somewhat intermittent 


446 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


conversation. Once she sent a quick glance in my direction, and I 
guessed that the youth had reached me in going over the list of pas- 
sengers. I prayed that he might be charitable in his comments. 

Strolling into the smoking-room that evening, I found most of 
the male passengers there assembled. Two games of cards were in 
progress, with a fringe of spectators looking over the players’ shoul- 
ders. After a few minutes Burroughs appeared, and dropped upon 
the cushioned bench beside me. 

“Not playing, eh?” said he. “ Don’t you admire the sport?” 

“ Not particularly,” I answered. “ Are you going to take a hand ?” 

“ I like to, generally,” said he, with a laugh, “ but I’d rather do 
something else just now.” 

“ Smoke, for instance ?” I suggested. 

“ Not exactly,” he answered, with a sort of embarrassment in his 
tone. “ By the way, wouldn’t you like to meet your fair compatriot?” 

“Who is she? I had supposed myself to be the only North 
American on board.” 

“ Miss Dorothy Gray. If you happened to notice, you saw me 
talking to her this afternoon. She’s with her aunt, Mrs. Loring, — met 
’em in Rio, you know. I told her who you were, and she’ll be glad 
to see you. Come along, that’s a good fellow.” 

“Why this haste?” But I rose without delay, as he might have 
observed, had he not been busy with his own schemes. 

“ It’s something like this, you know,” he went on. “ That splendid 
creature with a name I can’t pronounce is with Miss Gray now, and 
until I get somebody to look after the little Yankee, you know, I can’t 
have the splendid creature to myself. I don’t speak much of her lingo, 
you see, and she can’t make even a stagger at mine, and so our conver- 
sation is rather embarrassing before a third party, don’t you know ? 
I’m counting on you to help me out.” 

“ Lead the way,” said I. “ I’m a willing sacrifice.” 

In five minutes I found myself talking to Miss Gray, while at 
a little distance Burroughs and the fair Brazilian were progressing 
famously in spite of the lingual limitations. Still farther away the 
buxom mother of the splendid creature was playing a discreet chape- 
ron and discoursing with one of her countrymen. 

There was a glorious moon overhead, and the steamer ran smoothly 
over the tranquil sea. These details come back to me far more dis- 
tinctly than the words of folly, commonplace, or wisdom we may have 
exchanged. Probably we talked of the ship, the officers, and the pas- 
sengers, of Brazil and the United States, and, last but not least, of the 
beauty and charm of the night. The girl had something white and 
fluffy thrown over her head, and her light jacket was buttoned about 
her trim figure, for the evening air was cool, in spite of our latitude. 
The moonlight was kind to her, as it is to so many of her sisters, and 
had I attempted to revise my afternoon’s opinion of her face, my new 
finding, I fear, would have been far less severely critical. 

In that first evening I came to like her exceedingly. There was 
nothing of the coquette in her; in fact, there was hardly a touch of 
frivolity. She seemed grave rather than gay, although one got from 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


447 


her no suggestion of a morose disposition. In short, there was some- 
thing in her manner to bring to mind the self-repression one often notes 
in persons long accustomed to close attendance upon an exacting invalid. 
As it happened, she came rightfully by this air, inasmuch as her aunt 
was a chronic searcher for the health which she believed herself to lack. 
With this aunt Miss Gray had been travelling for several years. 

When she bade me good-night I gave an hour to tobacco and Bur- 
roughs, who chattered enthusiastically about the flower of Brazil. In- 
cidentally, he explained that he had met Mrs. Loring and her niece 
but once before the Bedouin sailed, and that he knew next to nothing 
of them. 

“ The old lady’s a queer one, though,” he added. “ If you confess 
that you’re a doctor she’ll make your life a burden, you know. Shun 
her, old chappie, shun her.” 

Events proved that, even had I been disposed to accept his advice, 
it would have been extremely difficult to put it into practice. Mrs. 
Loring gave me no option in the matter. No sooner did she discover 
my profession — and that she did speedily — than she sent for me. I 
found her propped up on pillows in her berth, with a novel in one hand 
and a fan in the other. 

“ So kind of you, Dr. Morris, so very, very kind,” she began, — “ so 
kind to come so soon. Really, I was in despair, yes, in abject despair, 
until I heard that you were a physician. I am so ill, so miserably ill, 
doctor, and the ship’s surgeon misjudges my case so terribly. Would 
you believe it, — can you believe it? — he actually tried to humbug me 
into thinking that I was well, perfectly well. And I — I ” 

She fell back upon her pillows, as if overpowered by the remem- 
brance of her sufferings. Yet in a moment she was again sitting up 
and pouring into my ears a torrent of words. She was a tall woman, 
thin, though not emaciated, very nervous, and one of the most voluble 
persons it was ever my fate to encounter. Her age was not far from 
forty-five years. 

In spite of her repeated assertions that she was very ill, and the 
evident faith she put in them, it was clear that Mrs. Loring might as 
well have been on deck as in her state-room. An undue indulgence in 
certain triumphs of the ship’s pastry-cook, and an overtaxed digestion, 
would explain her ailment to the satisfaction of anybody but herself. 
The surgeon’s view of the matter, expressed rather brusquely, had 
served to convince the lady that he was a brute. Perhaps had she 
been a lone traveller she might have had occasion to put me in the 
same category ; but, with one thought for her and two for her niece, I 
listened patiently to the tale of sorrow and agony. 

“ Well, Mrs. Loring,” said I, when the opportunity came, “ I think 
I have diagnosed your case. With your co-operation, we’ll have you 
well again long before this voyage is over. I’ll prepare some medicine 
which I think will be effective. I shall have to ask you to put your- 
self on a restricted diet, in order that the delicate chemical changes 
which I count upon the medicine to produce as an aid to the digestive 
ferments may progress under the most favorable conditions. The 
dose will be a teaspoon ful just half an hour before each meal. So 


448 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


accurately calculated are the effects that I must ask you to follow the 
directions to the minute. The slightest variation in the time may 
utterly destroy the efficacy of the drugs.” 

“ Oh, you may rely upon me, doctor,” she cried, delightedly. “ I 
understand you perfectly, — yes, perfectly. To the minute, to the very 
minute, the medicine shall be taken. Oh, doctor, doctor, it is a com- 
fort, such a comfort, to see that you understand my trouble so thor- 
oughly, — yes, so thoroughly. Now, that surgeon ” 

But I bowed myself out of the state-room, and hastened in search 
of the official medicine-man, who, it must be admitted, learned with 
entire satisfaction that another had assumed charge of Mrs. Loring’s 
case. Moreover, he cheerfully assisted in the preparation of the medi- 
cine for her use. It was warranted to be harmless; it tasted much as 
if a little sugar had been dissolved in a generous quantity of water. 
As it met the patient’s craving for doses, however, and as she was up 
and about again in the course of a few days, it may be said to have 
accomplished its benevolent purpose. 

In the mean time Miss Gray and I were getting on famously. We 
walked the deck together, we hazarded small bets on the steamer’s 
daily run, and we shared in the somewhat limited list of mid-ocean 
amusements. While the moonlight evenings lasted, we gave the Queen 
of Night every chance in the world to exercise her mischievous sway; 
but for once, at least, her powers failed. I do not mean to suggest 
that our conversation was always coldly matter-of-fact. A vein of 
sentiment ran through it at times, but on the whole we kept well 
within the bounds of every-day friendship, which for two young per- 
sons placed as we were approached the remarkable. There were con- 
fidences exchanged, to be sure, or, to speak more precisely, she heard a 
good deal of my experiences and hopes and she confided to me a little 
of hers. It may be that the difference was due to the subtle power 
she possessed of arousing in others faith of the sort which leads to 
such confessions. Thus it came to pass that she acquired a fairly 
accurate idea of the life I had led and of the problems which con- 
fronted me, while I learned only the outlines of her story. Her 
parents were dead, and for the last dozen years she had been with her 
aunt, who was a childless widow. Never the possessor of vigorous 
health, Mrs. Loring had gradually worried herself into the conviction 
that she was a mere physical wreck. Having no home ties, and being 
able to indulge in a liking for travel, she had devoted herself to 
journeying about in quest of a cure. She and her niece had visited 
most of the noted cities of Europe, had spent two winters in Northern 
Africa, and now were voyaging back to England after a short stay in 
Brazil. 

With the exception of a storm encountered north of the line, the 
Bedouin met fine weather, and, after a good passage, steamed slowly 
into the Thames. I have only a clouded recollection of the scene 
when we went ashore, though perhaps the most vividly recalled inci- 
dent is the impressive farewell of Burroughs and his inamorata, by 
force of circumstances more pantomime than dialogue. Mrs. Loring 
and her niece were bound for Paris. My way lay westward. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


449 


“ So sorry to lose you, doctor, — so sorry,” Mrs. Loring declared. 
“ Actually, really actually, doctor, I believe you understand my trouble 
better than anybody else I ever met, — and oh, Dr. Morris, I have 
met so many ! It makes me shudder, sometimes, to think of them all. 

But now we’re going to Paris, dear Paris Dorothy, don’t let that 

cabman handle that valise so carelessly ! The government shouldn’t 
permit such men to have cabs. Yes, as I was saying, Paris is so 
delightful, and it would be so pleasant if you could be there with us. 
Dear, dear ! he’s dropped it just as if it were a stone ! Dorothy, please 
do caution him. Now, doctor, we must say au revoir ; not good-by, 
you know, for we shall meet again, really we shall, but au revoir. 
And I’m so grateful to you ! I really can’t tell you how grateful I 
am. You must send us your address, doctor, and we’ll send you ours ; 
and when we go back to America we shall see you again. Oh, I know 
we shall. Goodness gracious! he’s got the bag with the medicine- 
bottles in it !”. 

Mrs. Loring dashed forward to prevent a catastrophe. 

“ I trust that your aunt is a good prophetess,” I said to Miss Gray. 
“ When do you think you will return to the States?” 

“ Before very long, I hope ; it may be within a year.” 

“ Then where will you make your home?” 

“ I can hardly guess. Our plans, you know, are most uncertain.” 

“ Dorothy, Dorothy !” Mrs. Loring called. 

“ I trust that you will have a delightful trip,” said I. “ Our 
voyage on the Bedouin — most pleasant — er-er — wish you — er-er — 
all manner — good fortune.” 

“ And aunt and I wish you every success,” she answered. “ Re- 
member, as she says, it is au revoir , and not good-by.” 

She drew her hand from mine, — I don’t know just how long it had 
been in my clasp, — and I had the melancholy pleasure of assisting her 
to enter the cab. Then the vehicle rumbled away, leaving behind a 
sorrowing young man, who stood watching it grow smaller and smaller 
in the distance, and who, physician though he was, risked pneumonia 
by forgetting, for a most unreasonable time, to replace his hat upon 
his head. 


IV. 

I landed in New York on the third day of the new year, wofully 
lacking in projects for my future. The metropolis seemed to offer no 
promising field, and I soon gave up my idea of adding another unit to 
its hundreds of thousands. Then came thoughts of the West; but a 
chance meeting with an old classmate, who had ventured into that 
El Dorado of impoverished youth and had returned even poorer than 
he went forth, was taken as a warning against imitating his example. 
So, at last, accepting Hobson’s choice, I reappeared in the city from 
which Captain Peck had lured me, and once more entered the crowded 
ranks of its physicians. It was a growing, bustling, active community, 
but my share in its general prosperity seemed destined to be sadly 
limited. 

Vol. LVL— 29 


450 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


I secured cheap quarters in one of the poorer residence districts, 
thereby, perhaps, handicapping myself greatly, but at the same time 
reducing expenses to a point made advisable by a light purse. Still, 
in spite of the most rigid economy, the outgo constantly exceeded the 
income. From a small margin to the good I passed to a small balance 
on the wrong side of the ledger. Worst of all, this balance grew, not 
rapidly, for I thought twice before spending a penny, but with the 
steadiness resulting from an unseemly disproportion between earnings 
and expenses. None of the old patients returned to me, — though that 
was hardly a matter of regret, — and new ones were few and far 
between. Now and then an accident case, — what a keen eye I kept 
upon buildings in course of construction in the neighborhood ! then 
perhaps a call to attend some stranger fallen in a fit on the pavement; 
then a sufferer from some chronic malady, even deeper in debt than I, 
and changing physicians simply because the charity of the first was 
worn out : such was the shadow of a practice which appeared never 
likely to round out into a reality. My garments of decent black 
became shiny with use, while my bell-pull lost its polish through rust. 
If I looked as hungry as I often felt, it was no wonder that the ailing 
passed me by. Little by little the few articles in my possession of 
which there was not absolute need disappeared. Some were sold out- 
right; others were lodged with pawnbrokers. 

This state of things continued for more than a year, my lot grow- 
ing more miserable day by day. At long intervals letters came from 
Perez. My replies were mailed with the promptness of a man whose 
time hangs heavy on his hands. There was no attempt in my letters 
to conceal my troubles ; there was a certain relief in setting forth an 
indictment of the world in general and my neighbors in particular. 
More than once I was sorely tempted to seek a loan from him, but 
pride stood in the way. I had not quite reached the point of utter 
defeat, but I was very close to it. Not a word had been heard of Mrs. 
Loring and her niece, who, for all I knew, might be in Europe, Asia, 
Africa, or America. Letters had come from Mrs. Peck, telling me 
that she was at her home in Maine, awaiting the return of her husband 
from another voyage round the Horn. Her health, she was happy to 
add, appeared to be re-established. 

As has been set forth, the test of endurance went on for more than 
a twelvemonth. It was ended in a strange manner, without warning, 
and at a time when I was near to despair. The landlord had attempted 
again to collect a part of the money due him, — he could scarcely be said 
to have hounded me for it, inasmuch as he had suffered so undesirable 
a tenant to fall several months in arrears, — and once more he had been 
put off with excuses and apologies. He had not been harsh in his re- 
plies, but it was easy to understand that his patience was fairly exhausted. 
He had left me still in possession, but I feared that a few days more 
would see me turned into the street and almost as hopeless as a ship- 
wrecked sailor on a barren island. In either case starvation would be 
quite among the possibilities. 

After a frugal supper I tried to read, but with very slight success, 
my thoughts wandering repeatedly from the book to the approaching 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


451 


crisis in my affairs. It must have been for hours that 1 sat brooding 
over my perplexities. At last, more discouraged than ever by the un- 
varying trend of the reflections, I started to my feet, and, crossing to 
the window, raised the curtain and peered out. It was later than I had 
supposed, for the lights had disappeared from the houses across the way 
and the pavements seemed to be deserted. Turning back to my desk, 
I filled a pipe. Tobacco was the sole luxury left to me, and the stock 
in my pouch was running low. 

There came a knock at the door, a light tap thrice repeated. As I 
answered the summons, a man stepped into the room and with a quick 
motion closed the door behind him. He was of medium height, thin, 
sallow-faced, hook-nosed, with crisp black hair and moustache shot with 
gray. 

“Dr. Alfred Morris ?” he asked. 

I bowed and motioned him to a chair. Disregarding the invitation, 
he drew a letter from his pocket. 

“ For you — this,” said he. 

The envelope bore no address. Breaking the seal, I drew out a 
sheet of paper on which was written, “ Let the bearer command all 
good offices.” In place of the name of the writer was a Greek cross 
with three dots beside it. A second glance at the words above the 
device satisfied any doubts as to the identity of the man whose hand 
had penned them. 

“ This is the best of introductions,” said I. “ Pray be seated. In 
what way can I assist you ?” 

“ It is a matter of a confidential character,” he answered, with a 
glance about the room. 

“ You may speak freely : there is no one to play the eavesdropper.” 

“ That is well. I will endeavor to trespass upon but little of your 
time.” 

He spoke with a peculiar slowness, almost hesitancy (as if picking 
his words with great care), and with a marked accent, which at once 
betrayed that English was not his native tongue. 

“You may command me,” said I. “But, pardon me, your name 
is not given in this note.” 

“My name? Ah, you may call me Lamar.” 

He came closer, and fixed a pair of piercing eyes upon me. 

“ Dr. Morris,” said he, “ I will request you to suffer me to pass by 
my reasons for coming here.” 

“ Your credentials are enough,” said I. “ Rest assured I shall 
question you on no point you prefer not to explain.” 

“And I may request also secrecy, in any event, regarding this 
meeting ?” 

“ I give you my word. As I have said, you may command me.” 

He paused, as if to reach a decision in some matter of great moment. 
I studied him with increasing curiosity, my interest fired by the strange 
circumstances of his visit. 

“ I make you, then, a proposition,” he said, at last. “ I wish to 
obtain the right to your time and attendance.” 

I stared at him in blank amazement. What could he mean ? Did 


452 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


he propose to retain me as his private physician? Was he sufficiently 
wealthy to indulge in such luxuries? His dress told nothing on that 
score. He might have been a thrifty mechanic or a millionaire. 

“ It is my wish,” he went on, “ first to travel, but not far, then to 
seek retirement of the quietest. Once you told a friend, a friend,” — he 
repeated the word, as if to emphasize it, — “ of a place near to the sea, 
solitary, remote. Is it not so?” 

“ Yes, I remember,” said I, my thoughts flashing back to the con- 
versation on the last night with Perez. 

“ My health is precarious,” he continued. “ I wish to be not dis- 
turbed, to be guarded from intrusion, as well as to receive medical 
attention when necessary.” 

“ In other words,” I suggested, “you wish me to accompany you to 
the spot you have mentioned, to remain with you, and to see to it that 
you have the privacy you desire.” 

“ It is as you have said.” 

“ You ask a speedy decision ?” 

“ Immediate.” 

I looked at him doubtfully, as well I might after receiving such a 
proposal. He gauged my thoughts, no doubt, for he pressed me on the 
point where resistance would be weakest. 

“ You will be amply remunerated,” said he. “ May I ask the 
terms which will be agreeable, and which will suffice to repay your 
loss in leaving the city?” 

The appearance of the room might have told him how little that 
loss would be. More to test him than with any well-defined idea as to 
the value of my services, I said, — 

“ Two thousand dollars a year, and expenses, with an allowance for 
closing up my affairs here.” 

“ It is agreed. Let us bind the bargain.” And with that he drew 
from his pocket a roll of bills and held them out to me. 

“ When shall the arrangement take effect?” I asked. 

“Now; from this moment. Shall it be so?” 

I hesitated, but only for an instant. The sight of the money over- 
powered my doubts, — it represented so much to one whose fortunes 
were so desperate. 

“Yes,” said I, “from this moment.” And I took the roll of 
bills. 

I had acted upon impulse, but it may be that long deliberation 
would have brought about the same result. I knew nothing of the 
man, except that he bore a token from my best friend. I was ignorant 
even of his name, for from the first I understood Lamar to be an alias. 
At his motives I could hardly guess, but it was most probable that 
he was a political exile. At all events, association with him could not 
change my condition for the worse. There would be at least the pros- 
pect of a decent livelihood ; and very alluring that prospect was. In 
short, it was difficult to discover how I should be the loser. A mod- 
erately successful practitioner would have smiled at such an estimate as 
I had placed upon my services, but the experiences of the last year had 
not been conducive to over-confidence. So, now that I had put myself 


MY STRANGE PATIENT 


453 


under this stranger’s orders, I lost no time in asking him what the first 
of them might be. He replied that he was anxious to leave the city 
at once. 

“ There is little to detain me,” said I. “ I dare say I can be at your 
disposal by ten o’clock to-morrow morning.” 

“ Not so. We must depart to-night,” he answered, decisively. 

“What? To-night? There is no train at this hour.” 

“I comprehend. But I prefer a carriage beyond the environs. 
One can be obtained, can it not?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Then arrange for it at once. You may return for a time, if there 
is need.” 

Here was haste with a vengeance. Still, if he desired it, so should 
it be. It mattered little to me how the night was passed. He was 
paying for his right to command, and he should have the worth of his 
money. 

“ A conveyance shall be at the door in half an hour,” said I. “ Will 
you await it here?” 

“ No. But I will return in the time set,” said he. “ First pledge 
me again to maintain faith.” 

I gave the promise, and saw him step out into the night, without 
concerning myself greatly as to the probable outcome of our alliance. 
Then I went my way to rouse up the owner of a livery-stable near 
by and to bargain with him for a vehicle. Although he had never 
profited by my patronage, he knew me to be a physician, and there- 
fore supposedly subject to late calls from distant patients. I had de- 
cided to drive to Merton, a town about twenty miles away, on the line 
of railway we would use in our . journey. The man exacted a stiff 
price for the carriage, but there was no haggling over it, for I got 
as much pleasure as he from the exorbitant sum he demanded : 
there was certainly more of novelty for me in participating in such a 
transaction. 

When, at the time appointed, Lamar returned to the office, he 
carried a small black satchel, which apparently contained all the effects 
he cared to take with him. The carriage was at the door, the driver 
grumbling to himself at the long ride which lay before him. Once in 
the vehicle, Lamar settled himself comfortably in his corner and 
lighted a cigar. The satchel was on the seat beside him. I observed 
that his hand never left it. Neither of us spoke often in the course 
of the drive. There were questions I burned to ask, but it was alto- 
gether likely that they would not be answered. As his employee, I felt 
compelled to respect his moods, and his present one was certainly that 
of reticence. Although the road was good, and the motion of the 
vehicle easy, I felt no drowsiness : my strange companion supplied me 
with abundant food for reflection. Our Jehu took his time, and the 
horses were not ambitious, but before daylight our destination had been 
reached. A sleepy attendant led us to our rooms in the Merton Hotel, 
and a little later I was slumbering as peacefully as if I had been stowed 
away in my dingy quarters in the city, with never a prospect of an 
adventure more unusual than an encounter with a dunning creditor. 


454 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


V. 

Lamar’s knock awakened me, and I arose refreshed and ready to 
carry out the scheme outlined the night before. A clock on the mantel 
showed that nearly half the day had slipped away. Dressing quickly, 
I passed into my companion’s sitting-room, where a substantial break- 
fast was spread on the centre-table. It had been arranged that we 
should shun the hotel dining-room, and a statement that Lamar was 
travelling under my professional care could be relied upon to quiet any 
curiosity developed by our exclusiveness. 

Lamar was seated at the table, with a half-finished cup of coffee 
before him. The light from the window fell full upon him, and for an 
instant I repented the bargain between us ; for his face was one of the 
most repulsive it had ever been my lot to behold. The sallowness I 
had noticed was more pronounced, and there were lines which had 
escaped the scrutiny by lamplight. The chin was long and pointed, 
the cheeks were thin, and the forehead, though high enough to indicate 
no lack of brain-power, was narrow and wrinkled. There were hollows 
at the temples such as one often sees in sufferers from wasting diseases ; 
with the dark circles under his eyes, they gave him the look of a man 
whose health was irretrievably shattered, though, as it proved, his phys- 
ical condition was no matter of immediate concern. As has been said, 
his nose was large and curved, and his hair and moustache were streaked 
with gray. His teeth, which he seldom showed, were large, discolored, 
and irregular. His eyes, above which the brows met in a bushy hedge, 
were small and deeply sunk in his head. There was hardly one of the 
man’s features which was pleasing, and combined they made up a face 
almost grotesque in its uncomeliness; yet in studying the expression 
of his countenance one forgot his ugliness. It is the business of the 
physician sometimes to consider more than mere bodily ailments, to 
heed the signs and tokens of the forces of the animating spirit, to seek 
out the passions which have held sway and dominated the existence of 
the patient. Deceived somewhat at first by his appearance of decrepi- 
tude, I tried to solve the problem Lamar presented from a professional 
stand-point. There was power in his face ; power, will, determination ; 
much self-control, and more selfishness. Plainly, thought I, a man of 
bitter hates and few affections, unscrupulous and resourceful, now a 
fugitive, and bearing in his eye the look of dread of his pursuers. 

What had brought him to such straits? Over and over again I 
asked myself the question. That political intrigues had made him 
an outlaw seemed to be the most natural explanation, but it failed to 
meet all the requirements of the case. A political offender, once in the 
United States, would be free to go about openly, yet here he was in 
hiding and anxious to reach a still more remote refuge. His manner 
was that of one accustomed to exercise authority. Why should he 
have intrusted his fate to a stranger, young and poor? Surely he 
might have commanded a far more powerful ally. It was as if in his 
game with fate he had chosen to risk his all on the slenderest of chances 
and at the greatest odds. 

He gave me time enough for these reflections ; for after the first 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


455 


salutations he relapsed into silence. Perhaps he guessed what the trend 
of my thoughts would be, and was willing to allow me an opportunity 
to study him. Not until my meal was finished did he speak. He had 
lighted a cigar, and was watching the rings of smoke, which he blew 
very skilfully. 

“So far all has gone well,” said he. “Yet I would not delay: 
this I think you do comprehend. It is, however, my preference to 
travel by night. But first let me ask, you are still content with the 
agreement ?” 

“ Perfectly,” said I. It was not the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth, but it served well enough. 

“ Very good. Then to consideration of an immediate matter. You 
will pardon me my slowness of speech in English ” 

“ But you speak it well,” I broke in. 

“ I lived in England several years,” he answered, but no sooner 
was the explanation made than he appeared to regret it ; for he added, 
“ But to our subject. Permit me to lay before you a plan.” 

“ Pray proceed,” said I, somewhat puzzled as to what was to come. 

“ This it is : that you, having this afternoon to do with as you may, 
return to the city and there conclude such affairs as are pressing. It 
is most probable that another opportunity so excellent may not present 
itself.” 

His meaning was sufficiently patent : once we should have reached 
our destination he would prefer to have me without an excuse for re- 
visiting my old haunts. Nothing, though, would suit me better than 
to fall in with his desire. So I said, — 

“ If you will allow me until nine o’clock this evening, I promise to 
be free in every way to accompany you wherever you choose to go. 
My business can be closed in short order. You may rest satisfied that 
I shall say nothing of the change of my plans. In fact, I don’t ex- 
pect to excite any lively curiosity : it will be merely a case of another 
man dropping out of sight: the city is too accustomed to such disap- 
pearances to worry about another added to the list. Believe me, I 
don’t regret our arrangement.” 

Begret it, indeed ! The salary offered was ten times as large as my 
income for the last year. It would mean at least plenty to eat and 
plenty to wear, a comfortable home, and freedom from the cares which 
had made life a burden. The wolf of poverty that had haunted my 
door would be driven on to howl about the dwelling of the next poor 
devil. At an earlier stage of my career I might have hesitated, have 
paused before consenting to bury myself in the country ; but it is a 
rarely vigorous ambition that thrives on grinding monotony and grows 
strong through years of semi-starvation : mine was not made of such 
sturdy stuff. Had Lamar sprouted horns and displayed a cloven hoof, 
I might have experienced qualms, but scarcely well-defined regrets. 

Three hours later I was again in the city, and the few ties which had 
bound me to it were severed. The landlord took my departure philo- 
sophically ; payment of the arrears of rent seemed to reconcile him to 
losing the tenant. A near-by practitioner gladly agreed to give room 
to my books until they should be sent for, and a junkman drove an easy 


456 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


bargain for my furniture. A valise was capacious enough to receive 
the few effects I cared to take away, and even its contents might have 
been parted with without great sorrow. There were no patients to 
worry about, and few questions to answer. To such as were put I re- 
plied that I had secured an appointment in the country ; and even my 
professional brother did not think it worth while to push the inquiry 
further. In short, my neighbors manifested no more curiosity about 
me than about the vanished builder of a last year’s bird’s-nest still 
swinging on a bough of the half-dead tree at the corner. 

It would have been easy to return to Merton long before the ap- 
pointed time, but I tarried in town to enjoy a luxury which had 
charmed my fancy on many a day when the cravings of hunger pos- 
sessed me. There was a restaurant, famous far and near, a gastronomic 
Mecca to which many pilgrims journeyed joyously, under whose roof 
I was determined to dine. Often had I surveyed its glories from the 
pavement without, prowling about the place in fascination at the picture 
of good cheer visible through its windows. Now I was privileged to 
enter, strong in the consciousness that a roll of bills still of goodly 
size in spite of the payments made from it nestled in my pocket. Let 
it be confessed, however, that as I stepped through the door-way my 
hand was clutched about the money, as if in fear that it might vanish. 
Not until I had dined and the account had been liquidated did the 
dread of an awakening from so pleasant a dream disappear. The re- 
membrance of that solitary feast will be always with me; for it brought 
the first convincing proof that the old period of stress was at an end. 

A suburban train bore me to Merton early in the evening. I went 
at once to my employer’s room. Before leaving the city I had secured 
time-tables of the road on which we were to make our journey, and had 
found that a through express stopped at the town at ten o’clock. Lamar 
was well pleased with this bit of information. He had not quitted his 
quarters in my absence, he said, and none of the hotel servants, except 
the somnolent porter who admitted us, had had a glimpse of his face, 
for he had kept out of sight when food and drink were brought to his 
room. A little before ten o’clock I settled our reckoning, and we left 
the hotel by a side door, reaching the station just as the train rolled 
up to the platform. My companion chose a coach in which there were 
few passengers, and, picking out a dark corner, buried his face in his 
upturned coat-collar and pretended to sleep. One of his hands was 
clasped about the strap of his little valise, and not once in the course 
of the journey did he loosen his grip upon it. 

There was a weary ride of several hours, and then an equally weary 
wait at a junction at which we were to take a train over a branch line, 
but long before the lazy folk — if there were any sluggards in that 
workaday region — were stirring, our travel by rail had been completed. 
We left the cars at Bassettville, the station nearest Rodneytown, which 
was separated from the railway by a ten-mile stretch of country. As 
it happened, Sam Carpenter, the owner of a livery stable near by, who 
usually supplied conveyances to persons desiring to reach the village, 
was an acquaintance of my boyhood days. With him I was soon in 
friendly discourse. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


457 


“ I’ve got a patient with me, Sam,” said I, “ and he wants to breathe 
pure sea-breezes. Fm taking him down to the old place. He needs 
good air and quiet.” 

“ Wall, he won’t git much else, I guess,” said the man, with all the 
contempt of the railroad town for a place less blest. “ Want a steady- 
nag, don’t ye? Take a boy along, or drive yerself?” 

“ Never mind about the boy ; I know the way,” I answered. “ I’ll 
see that the team gets back to you this afternoon.” 

A little later I drove up to the station where Lamar had been 
awaiting me. He climbed into the buggy with an agility which was 
surprising, considering his appearance of illness, and settled down 
beside me with the valise still in his hands. I offered to stow it away 
with my sole piece of luggage back of the seat, but he shook his 
head. 

“ It is my preference to keep it,” said he. “ It is not a burden.” 

The morning was fresh and clear, and as we drove along the charm 
of it gained possession of my senses. I forgot the fatigue of the night 
in a stuffy car and the fact that we had not breakfasted. About us 
were gently rolling hills, topped here and there by dark woods, below 
which stretched broad meadows and cultivated fields ; a clear brook 
rippled near the road, which followed the tortuous course of its little 
valley; and overhead was a sky without a fleck of cloud, in the heart 
of the spring morning the most glorious of canopies. 

“ A beautiful country,” said I, half in soliloquy and half addressing 
my companion. 

“ And more, — a safe country, I think,” said he. “ We are not 
followed, — at least so far. No one else left the train when we did.” 

“ Oh,” said I, thus dragged back from sentiment to reality, u we 
ought to be safe enough. But, speaking of pursuit, was danger of it 
imminent?” 

“ Perhaps,” he answered, dryly. 

We rode on in silence, the good old horse between the shafts proving 
his master’s warranty of a lack of coltishness, yet contriving to get over 
the ground with satisfactory despatch. We parted company with the 
brook, crossed a little ridge, and turned down another narrow valley, 
traversed it, and crossed a stretch of woodland where the branches of 
the trees locked above the highway, climbed a hill, and in a moment 
were looking upon a scene in which there was no suggestion of those 
through which we had just passed. The road a little beyond us 
swerved sharply to the left, and, following the line of the ridge, led to 
the clustered houses of the village a mile away. Bight before us was 
the long, gentle slope of the hill, terminating in the low plain I knew 
so well, fringed with marsh and veined with narrow tidal streams ; 
and still farther on was the bay, glittering in the sun like a vast sheet 
of bejewelled azure. Here and there along its margin rose knolls on 
which grew clumps of stunted trees. Above one of them, a little 
nearer us than the rest, could be seen the chimney of the old house, as 
lonely a habitation as man could desire. 

“ There,” said I to my companion, pointing to the spot, “ there is 
your ideal hermitage.” 


458 


MY STRANGE PATIENT 


VI. 

What would have been the result upon my fortunes had the asylum- 
seeker failed to be satisfied with the retreat selected is a question over 
which I have since wasted much time. On the whole, it is probable 
that I should have seen little more of him, the chances being that in a 
day or two he would have disappeared, leaving, perhaps, a sum of 
money sufficient in his eyes to compensate me for services rendered to 
that date. It is good evidence of the recklessness which then possessed 
me that, though a contingency of this sort had been in my mind from 
the first, the thought of it had had no deterring influence. As it 
was, however, he seemed to be content with the choice made for him 
and ready to carry out our contract. 

The task of settling him in his new abode proved to be unexpect- 
edly easy. The owner of the old house was glad to dispose of it for 
a song, throwing in a patch of marsh-land along with the little hill on 
which the building stood. Though it was in need of repairs, and 
though wind and weather had left many a mark upon it, it was still 
a stout structure, with stanch beams and firm foundations, capable, 
apparently, of withstanding the gales of a score of winters. It was 
built on the summit of the hummock, which rose about forty feet 
above the sea-level, a rocky spur pushed up into the light and air from 
some stratum buried under the low lands of the coast. Upon the 
rocks was a scanty covering of soil, barely sufficient to give support 
to the fringe of dwarfed evergreens which surrounded the dwelling. 
Half-way down the slope on the west or landward side was a spring, 
about which was a patch of turf, the only bit of green on the prem- 
ises, for the soil under the trees was dull brown in hue, and the sea- 
ward terraces were too steep and stony to give root to even the hardi- 
est of grasses. To the east, directly between the knoll and the beach, 
was a marsh, which also curved about the rocks to border their south- 
ern side. On the north a tidal stream flowed so close to the base of 
the slope that one could step from a boat to the lowest of the rocky 
ledges. To the west the land was level, but not marshy, and the line 
of a long-abandoned wagon-track could be traced straight across to the 
hill from which Lamar had gained his first view of his refuge. Rod- 
ney town was considerably more than a mile distant, but about half- 
way between the village and the knoll were three or four farm-houses. 
Their occupants would be Lamar’s nearest neighbors, at least on the 
land side. To the south, perched on another rocky point about a 
quarter of a mile away, was the hut of a family of fishermen, who 
were not likely to be intrusive. 

As has been said, the business of taking possession was a simple 
matter, and the night after our arrival we passed in the house by the 
bay. Lamar showed amazing energy in making the place habitable, 
and within a week wonders were accomplished. A wagon-load of 
furniture and fittings was secured from the village ; I turned glazier 
to replace the broken window-panes, whose absence had served at least 
to save the place from the reproach of mistiness ; and my employer 
developed no mean ability as a carpenter. To be sure, it was a mere 
box of a house, making our labor so much the lighter, but I felt a 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


459 


good deal of pride in the results. On the ground-floor was a living- 
room, with a kitchen behind it, and a small room opening from the 
kitchen. Above were two rooms of fair size, both of which, Lamar 
told me, he should require for his own use. It had been agreed, soon 
after our arrival, that I should find quarters in one of the farm- 
houses between the refuge and the village, — an arrangement entirely 
to my liking, for the prospect of dwelling under the same roof with 
Lamar was not alluring. He was as unsympathetic as an iceberg, and 
hardly more loquacious, and the mystery he maintained was not of the 
fascinating sort. In the week we passed together I came to dislike 
him exceedingly. Sometimes, when a day’s labors were ended, he 
would sit for hours puffing away at his cigar, watching the wreaths 
of smoke, but speaking not a word and hardly honoring me with a 
glance. What his reflections might be was beyond my power to con- 
jecture ; yet I managed, with considerable satisfaction, to convince my- 
self that he had committed some crime of particular atrocity, and that 
he was no common political exile. Never, however, did he give me 
cause to suppose him to be a sufferer from remorse. Whatever his 
reasons for flight might have been, he seemed now to regard himself as 
respited from pursuit, and his look lost something of its restlessness, 
though it was evident that he did not feel that his peril was ended. 
He had strengthened the doors of the house and fitted them with 
heavy bolts, while stout bars were ready to be stretched across the 
lower windows at a moment’s notice. 

In these early days of our stay at Rodney town my acquaintance 
with the townspeople stood us in good stead. Of course our coming 
and the purchase of the old house set the tongues of the village gos- 
sips wagging, but the chatter was not very ill-natured, and the ex- 
planation that I, an old Rodneytown boy, had brought an invalid to 
the shore for the benefit of the sea-air was accepted with even less 
demur than I had looked for, for the villagers were proud of the 
healthfulness of the place. The additional statement that the sick 
man required complete quiet, and for the present was unable to receive 
visitors, was successful in its object. Lamar was not molested by in- 
quisitive callers, and after a little the people whom I met ceased to 
question me about him, save at rare intervals. A barn-burning about 
that time did us a great service in giving the townsmen a more vitally 
interesting topic than a sick stranger forced by his malady to lead a 
solitary existence. 

Among the most delicate tasks falling to my lot was the securing 
of a servant for the invalid, but, here again fortune being kind, an 
old negress was installed as nominal nurse and actual housekeeper. 
She had been born a slave, according to village talk, but had secured 
her freedom and migrated North. She was an excellent cook, but so 
surly and crabbed was her disposition — moreover, she was very deaf — 
that at last nobody would employ her. A recital of her disabilities 
sent me post-haste after her; for, if she was as unsociable as she was 
represented to be, she was the woman in a thousand for us. When she 
took charge of the kitchen we were relieved on one point at least : 
there would be no gossiping at that end of the house. 


460 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


Meanwhile, I had contracted for food and lodging at one of the 
farm-houses, and had put out my shingle in due form, — much to the 
satisfaction of my hostess, who confessed that it pleased her to have 
evidences given that there was “ a grown man ’bout the place.” She 
was Mrs. Elvira Weston, a widow, and the mother of two boys, neither 
of whom was yet old enough to relieve her of the cares of the farm. 
She was a cheery soul, who had endured many misfortunes without 
losing courage, and I was glad to secure quarters under her roof. She 
allotted to me a wing of the house, which, having an entrance of its 
own, would serve admirably as an office. I soon had my den fitted 
up in a way to excite considerable local admiration. A few books, a 
couple of anatomical charts, and some vials of drugs were disposed 
to the best advantage to impress patients with the mysteries of the 
healing art. 

In its beginning my practice in Rodneytown was much like an 
early spring in New England, — more promise than realization. A 
daily visit to Lamar was the basing-point of my routine. As a rule, 
it was very brief, though occasionally he let me understand that my 
post was no sinecure. Now and then he sent me on trips to Trent, a 
thriving hive of manufactories about thirty miles from the village. 
On the first of these journeys one of my duties was to mail a letter to 
a New York banking house ; on the next I was informed that a large 
sum was on deposit to my credit with the principal bank of the place. 
Thus, while my patron kept some control over the purse-strings, I was 
the acting paymaster. From first to last there could be no charge of 
niggardliness made against him ; he looked over my accounts now and 
then, but never questioned their accuracy. 

As he finished his superficial auditing on one of these occasions, he 
looked up, and asked, rather abruptly, — 

“ The old fisherman who lives yonder — what do you know of him ?” 

“Not much,” said I, “ except that his name is Johnson, that he has 
been in the navy, and that he has the best of reputations for honesty.” 

“No more?” 


“ Well, he and his two brothers who live with him are an un- 
sociable lot, who keep much to themselves. There’s no woman with 
them : they’re their own housekeepers.” 

“ I may buy of their fish. Bid the eldest to come here to-night. 
You need not be present,” said he. With his usual ceremonious bow 
at parting, he turned on his heel and stalked up-stairs to his sanctum. 

The order was surprising, in view of his desire to avoid his neigh- 
bors ; but, though it puzzled me, I sought out Johnson and delivered 
the message. That night in my cosy office I tried in vain to discover 
a reason for the interview then going on in the house on the knoll. 
The fish explanation was fishy indeed, old Martha, the cook, being 
quite able, in spite of her deafness, to bargain for any supplies for her 
department. It was improbable that Lamar had any notion of setting 
Johnson to spy upon my doings, for he had used me as a means of 
communicating with the man, a course he would not have adopted had 
he entertained any suspicions of my faithfulness. It might be that he 
desired to arrange for the use of a sloop owned by the brothers, with 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


461 


an eye to the possibility of opening a way of retreat by sea in case his 
present stronghold became untenable. Yes, that seemed to be the most 
reasonable explanation, although, so far as I knew, Lamar was not in 
the slightest danger of discovery by his enemies. Such a precaution 
at that time appeared to be about as necessary as a shipment of anti- 
dotes for frost-bite to the Hottentots. 

Sleeping over the matter gave me no fresh light upon it, nor was I 
the wiser for my pains for many a day thereafter; but at last chance, 
the much-explaining, furnished the clue. 

I had tarried at the house on the knoll unusually late that after- 
noon, and the sun was setting as I began my walk homeward. It had 
been a clear, pleasant day, with a good deal of warmth in the sunshine, 
although autumn was now far advanced ; but as evening came on the 
air grew chilly aud the brisk off-shore breeze took on a touch of the 
approaching winter. With turned-up coat-collar and hands buried 
in my pockets, I stepped out briskly on the tramp homeward, rather 
reconciled at the moment to the slenderness of a practice which guar- 
anteed me an undisturbed evening. With book and pipe, an easy- 
chair, and a bright fire, several hours could be passed very delightfully, 
with the stiff breeze whistling through the tree-tops and signalling 
warnings to good folk within-doors to keep snugly under cover. Just 
at this point in my reflections there came a fierce gust which almost 
sent me staggering back. My hat, torn from my head, went seaward, 
spinning like a top in what might have been a baby whirlwind. I ran 
after it at my best gait, sometimes losing ground and sometimes gaining, 
only to see the gust with impish perversity sweep it from my very 
grasp. Then my toe caught in something, and down I went in a heap. 
As I regained my feet, the hat, with a flight as clumsy as that of a 
hen clearing a barn-yard fence, flopped across a salt-water creek and 
dropped upon the opposite bank. The tide was at the ebb, and the 
stream was neither broad nor deep. Gathering such momentum as I 
could, I ran to the edge and gave a vigorous leap. My feet struck the 
farther bank, but slipped in the soft mud, and once more I measured 
my length, sprawling this time, however, half in the water and half on 
shore. In the worst of tempers I scrambled out of the slime, picked up 
the runaway hat, and then almost dropped it again in surprise ; for right 
before me was a wire, strung as neatly as any telegraph line, and sup- 
ported by posts about a foot in height. The chase had carried me into 
the marsh to the south of Lamar’s house, toward which the wire 
extended in one direction. Where was the other end of it? That 
query could have but one answer, — Johnson’s cottage, the only habita- 
tion in that quarter. 

In the course of the next day’s visit to Lamar I told him of my 
accidental discovery. 

“ It is a trifle, a small contrivance to summon Johnson,” said he, 
quietly. “He is useful in many ways; he may be more useful still in 
others. He is a stout fellow and a brave.” 

“ Then you fear ?” 

“ You have the saying,” he answered, with a shrug of the shoulders, 
‘“In time of peace prepare for war.’” 


462 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


VII. 

Had the master of the house on the knoll been other than he was, 
this latest precaution might have served to excite a suspicion that his 
mind was beginning to give way under the depressing influences of his 
manner of existence. Afterward, it is true, suspicions of the sort 
came to me, though they were never long-lived, but at that time, while 
wonder was aroused, the feeling carried with it no suggestion that he 
was not actuated by some sufficient reason for the step he had taken. 
So far as I knew, his safety was not threatened ; but I had to confess 
myself in ignorance of the character of the peril he dreaded, and to 
note his arrangements, without appreciating the need of them, much as 
a raw recruit might watch the many and seemingly excessive precau- 
tions of a veteran in charge of a magazine. 

About a fortnight after the adventure in the marsh Lamar surprised 
me with an invitation to dine. He said very little while the meal was 
in progress, but when Martha had cleared the table and shuffled off 
to her own domain he began to talk with unwonted freedom. He 
asked questions about the village, concerning which his curiosity was 
certainly new-born, and then about the progress I had made in build- 
ing up a practice. 

“ Well,” said I, rather sheepishly, “ it’s slow work. People here- 
abouts are conservative. Most of them have survived old Dr. Banks’s 
attentions for a good many years, and they’re cautious about changing. 
Besides, most of them knew me as a youngster, and it takes time to 
live down the fact that I was a boy.” 

“ You maintain the professional air?” said he, inquiringly. 

“ Yes, though they give me little cause to smell of drugs. Strange 
and powerful odors would impress them, I suspect; at least, some of 
the older brethren seem to find such an aroma worth carrying about 
with them.” 

“ You should possess a conveyance of your own.” 

“So far one has been unnecessary. In case of need, Mrs. Weston 
lends me a horse and buggy.” 

“ That will not suffice. Procure a suitable vehicle and a horse, — 
one of speed. The cost shall be mine.” 

“Very well,” I answered. 

He rose and bowed in the fashion in which he terminated an inter- 
view, adding, however, before he left the room, “Procure them at 
once.” 

I understood that in this order he had an eye as much to his own 
benefit as to mine, but it pleased me nevertheless. There was nothing 
in the way of horseflesh in the neighborhood which would meet the 
requirement of great speed, and I resolved to drive to Bassettville the 
next day to seek Sam Carpenter’s assistance, his knowledge of the 
trotting stock of the region being encyclopaedic in its scope. To the 
shrewdness of a horse-trader born and bred he joined a reasonable 
amount of honesty, and, as there would be no haggling over his com- 
mission, he could be relied upon as a trustworthy adviser. When I 
drew rein the following morning before his stable he came out to meet 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


463 


me, with a twinkle of professional amusement in his eye as he glanced 
at Mrs. Weston’s steady old mare and ramshackle buckboard. 

“ Sam,” said I, getting down to business at once, “ I want to buy a 
good horse.” 

“ Like enough ye dew,” he answered, dryly. “ Many dews ; some 
gits ’em.” 

“ I want your help. What’s more, I’ll pay for it.” 

“ Now yer talkin’ sense,” said he, warming up a little. " Buyin’ a 
hoss’s like gittin’ a wife ; if yer don’t know yer bizness, good looks’ll 
fool ye, nine times out o’ ten. But what’s yer pick, go or show ?” 

“ Go,” said I. “ A horse that will stand without tying, that’s easy 
to drive, that has no bad tricks, that will jog along till he’s called upon, 
and then will give anything in the country his dust, — that’s the horse 
I’m after.” 

“ D’jer ever try to name a baby so’s to suit seven maiden aunts ?” 
he queried, with what seemed to be unnecessary irrelevance. 

“ No.” 

“ Wall, I reckon ye’ve got the same kind of a job on hand.” 

“ Oh, come,” said I, “ you’re my reliance in this. Scratch your 
head, and dig out what I’m after. It will be worth your while.” 

He reflected for a moment. 

“ Wall,” said he, “ there’s nothin’ to suit ye round here ; but if 
ye’ll come along to Trent, I’ll show ye just the article yer after.” 

The proposal pleased me ; for I had several errands to attend to in 
that city, and a ride of less than an hour by rail would carry us 
there. 

“ Come on, then,” said Carpenter, when I had agreed to his plan ; 
“ let’s get down ter the deepo. Train’s due in ten minits.” 

During the trip he told me something of the various happenings in 
Bassettville, and, in turn, sought news of Bodneytown in general, and 
of my patient in particular. He had heard, he said, a story that the 
invalid was a rich brewer from the South who had been sent to a less 
enervating climate. I prayed that the yarn might receive general cir- 
culation and credence, though how it had been started was one of the 
mysteries of countryside gossip. 

“ He’s from Charleston, South Car’liny, some folks allow,” said 
Carpenter, suggestively. 

“ From that direction, certainly,” I answered. 

“ He keeps mighty close.” 

“ He has to. Quiet, absolute quiet, is the best medicine he can 
have,” I hastened to explain. 

“ ’Tain’t much fun fer a man ter live like a clam,” Carpenter ob- 
served. “ Still, it’s livin’, and that beats dyin’ every time. It’s like 
fishin’ fer bass and catchin’ bull-heads.” 

When we left the train at the Trent station Sam led the way to 
the stable where we hoped to make a purchase. The horse, a big dark 
bay, long-legged and with a wisp of a tail, was brought out of his 
stall and trotted up and down the street for inspection. He was not 
a pretty horse in any way, but Carpenter gave me a nudge which might 
be taken to indicate that the animal met his approval. He drew me 


464 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


aside, after having made a long and thorough examination of the 
horse. 

“ Eight years old, sound as a dollar; wind and legs all right,” said 
he, in a whisper. “ I’ve seen him before. He’s good fer a mile under 
2.40. Quiet as a lamb, no fool notions ; sensible as a Christian about 
trains, — knows the injine can’t hurt him if he keeps off the track.” 

“ What’s the price?” 

“ Five hundred — asked,” said he, with a strong emphasis on the last 
word. 

I whistled softly. 

“ Oh, that’s the askin’ price,” he explained. “ It’s like a woman’s 
chignon : it’ll come off.” 

“ I’m in your hands,” said I. “ Understand, I want your guaran- 
tee in this business, and you’ll be paid for it. Besides the horse, I need 
harness and a buggy.” 

“ Wall,” said he, after a moment’s calculation, “ I’ll be fair with ye. 
Will ye give me what I can clear under five hundred dollars fer the 
hull outfit, hoss, light-runnin’ buggy, and a good harness?” 

“It’s a bargain. I’ll go to the bank, draw the money, and bring 
it to you here. Will you drive the rig to Bassettville, so that I can 
get it there to-night when I come down by train ?” 

“ By the time yer back from the bank I’ll have made the dicker 
and be ready to start,” said he. And he was as good as his word. 
Before noon the payment had been made and my new horse was trotting 
steadily along the road leading from Trent. Carpenter’s praise of the 
animal had been enough to end my doubts as to his speed, but I could 
not but wish that the steed were more pleasing to look upon. 

Though I wasted a good deal of time over a mid-day dinner and 
the various commissions I had to execute, I found upon reaching the 
railway station that there was nearly an hour of waiting ahead of me 
before the accommodation train should begin its journey down the road. 
The station, however, was not a bad place in which to kill time, for two 
lines met there, and the rapid ebb and flow of the human tide continued 
from morning to night. I rubbed elbows with stolid farmers, brisk 
townspeople, and nervous women, chatted for a moment with an ac- 
quaintance, and then stepped out upon the platform in search of some 
sheltered nook where a cigar might be enjoyed in peace. A long train 
from the West monopolized one of the tracks. It appeared to be well 
filled with passengers, and I strolled the length of it, surveying with 
some amusement the faces flattened against the windows of the cars, 
faces old, middle-aged, and young, but all alike in their expression of 
vague curiosity, as their owners watched the stream of travellers pass- 
ing from the waiting-rooms. I had nearly reached the end of the last 
car, and had bent down to strike a match in the lee of it, when I heard 
my name called. 

“ Oh, Dr. Morris, Dr. Morris, dear doctor, that’s you, isn’t it ? Do 
come here, quick, quick ! The train will be starting in a second, and 
I must see you ! Oh, doctor, doctor, quick, quick !” 

I recognized the voice. It was that of Mrs. Loring, with all the 
old hurrying rush of words I remembered so well. Looking up, I saw 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


465 


the itinerant sufferer leaning far out of the car window, with one arm 
waving wildly, as if to assist in attracting my attention. Pulling off 
my hat, I sprang toward her. 

“Oh, this is fortunate, fortunate, doctor, — you can’t know how 
fortunate !” she cried. “ I’ve been anxious, so anxious, to see you. 
How is my health ? Oh, doctor, it’s terrible, terrible, worse than ever, 
doctor ; worse, much worse, very much worse.” 

“ And Miss Gray, is she still with you ?” I asked, my eyes roaming 
over the windows and seeking her niece’s face at one of them. 

“ Yes, yes, dear girl, dear girl, she never leaves me. How could 
she, and have a heart? Mine, doctor, has been up to one hundred and 
twenty a minute.” 

“ Indeed,” said I, throwing due professional gravity into the word. 
“ I trust Miss Gray is well ?” 

“ Yes, yes, as well as ever. And a temperature of one hundred 
and two, repeatedly, doctor, repeatedly.” 

“What, Miss Gray’s tern ?” cried I, with no fictitious concern. 

“No, no, mine. Dear me, doctor, didn’t I tell you it was mine? 
Those springs in Kentucky, — we’ve just come from them, — they did 
me no good, Pm sure. And I was so hopeful, doctor, so hopeful ; the 
water had so many strange things in it, I was sure some of them 
must help me.” 

“ Your case is a marvellous one, Mrs. Loring,” said I. “ Will you 
kindly present my regards to your niece, and ” 

She stopped me with a quick gesture. 

“ Please put your address here,” said she, thrusting a note-book 
toward me. “ Hurry, please hurry, — the train is beginning to move. 

I have an idea that Oh, thanks ; yes, yes, I see, ‘ Rodneytown.’ 

So good of you, yes, so good. Good-by, doctor, good-by.” 

The train was fairly under headway now, and I stood bowing low, 
but not to the vanishing invalid. At the next window to hers I had 
had a glimpse of another face, one that dreams had kept fresh in my 
memory and that had figured in the little of romance that had crept 
into my existence. 


VIII. 

Winter, as a rule, displays few of his milder moods on that coast, 
and I had dreaded the effect of the season’s rigors upon Lamar, who 
certainly had had no experience of the protracted cold of the latitude. 
Luckily, the house on the knoll had been built to withstand storms, 
and I saw to it that an abundant supply of fuel was laid in, so that, 
on the whole, in spite of its exposed position, the dwelling was fairly 
comfortable even in the worst weather. Its owner made no complaints. 
He spent much of his time in one of the upper rooms, which he had 
fitted up as a sort of laboratory. His interest appeared to be divided 
between chemistry and electricity, though whether his experiments in 
either had any object save his own amusement I never learned. Two 
or three cases of books had been shipped from Trent to my address, 
but for his use, and, when he cared to read, a miscellaneous collection 
Vol. LVL— 30 


466 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


of worthies could be drawn upon. There were a few Portuguese books 
and a few Spanish, a good many in Latin, and a still larger number 
in French and in English. Burton’s Anatomy, Cicero’s Letters, and 
Voltaire’s works seemed to be his favorites: I say “ seemed,” for he 
never took the trouble to speak of any of the authors he read. 

He was still as cadaverous as ever, though his general physical con- 
dition was as good as could be hoped for by any man who led so sed- 
entary a life. December dragged through its tempestuous length, and 
January followed with an even more trying stretch of gales and ex- 
treme cold. These conditions he withstood so well that I had hopes 
that the winter would pass without illness at the house on the knoll ; 
but one day early in February I found him suffering from a severe 
cold and exhibiting symptoms which were most unfavorable. It was 
my first opportunity to earn the salary of his medical adviser, and for- 
tune was kind. Although he developed a good deal of fever, and at 
the worst it was touch-and-go with pneumonia, a week saw him prac- 
tically out of danger, though still quite willing to keep to his bed, and 
a good deal safer there than he would have been prowling about the 
house. He expressed no opinion of his treatment, no thanks to his 
doctor, no impatience to be about again. I was his physician, hired 
by the year, and so long as he was ill my orders were to be obeyed 
unquestioningly ; there was no need of gratitude either way. It was 
all very logical, no doubt, but it increased my dislike for him. There 
would have been more real satisfaction in persuading a drooping sapling 
to keep alive. 

After his recovery we slipped back into the old routine. He gave 
orders occasionally, and I obeyed them, without question and without 
any great heed for the reasons for them. In fact, speculating upon 
this man’s history or his plans was such profitless business that, for the 
time, I gave it up in disgust. He was a person who was to be visited 
daily, who paid liberally for the attention, and who thus enabled me to 
pass my many leisure hours in careless, easy-going comfort. The people 
I met were no longer inquisitive about the hermit ; the theory of the 
brewer from Charleston appeared to have spread widely and to have 
been accepted, finding believers far more easily than would have been 
the case with any statement of the facts concerning him, so far as they 
had fallen within my knowledge. 

At last winter drew to a close, and spring came on, advancing coyly, 
as is the custom of maidens before whom the world is ready to bow in 
eager homage. Then the last of the snow-banks disappeared from the 
recesses of the hills, the slopes grew green, and the rank vegetation of 
the marsh flourished in all the vigor of its strong new life. Once 
more there were birds in the trees and flowers in the fields, and once 
more from the sea swept invigorating breezes. 

To all about me spring brought renewed activities. There was a 
fine bustle on the farms, and even the sleepy village seemed to be 
awakened. For the first time my ease became onerous ; I fell to in- 
venting tasks to convince myself that one could be busy if he would. 
My horse, whose existence during the winter had been all that equine 
sloth could desire, was now in steady service, for the roads were excel- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


467 


lent, being sufficiently sandy soon to rid themselves of undesirable 
moisture, and I explored the highways and byways for miles around. 
Near the village I let my steed choose his own gait, but when we found 
a level bit of road where there were likely to be no spectators the 
trotter had an opportunity to prove his speed. He was all that Car- 
penter had said for him ; devoid of nerves, yet, when pushed, by long 
odds the fastest animal in the region. His appearance certainly was 
against him. Arching the neck he left to the younger and less philo- 
sophical of his kind ; his head was carried as low as that of the oldest 
and most decrepit plough-horse in the town. He was free from the vice 
of stumbling, yet often seemed to threaten to lose his footing on the 
slightest provocation. A high knee-action was foreign to his notions, 
and his ordinary trot was a mere shuffle. Yet he covered ground 
surprisingly, even when apparently only lounging along. His only 
serious fault, from a practical point of view, was a hard mouth, which 
sometimes made it no easy task to pull him in after one of our spurts. 

We were jogging along toward the village one day, when I heard 
a sharp patter of hoofs behind me, and soon Dr. Banks’s clever little 
mare drew up alongside the dark bay. 

“ Good-morning, Morris,” her owner called out, in his cheery voice, 
which had done as much for his patients as half his prescriptions. 

“ Fine day, doctor,” I shouted back to him. 

“ Very professional-looking nag you’ve got there,” he continued. 
“ Will stand without hitching, I’ll be bound.” 

“ He answers my purpose well enough,” I responded, rather stiffly, 
for after a while jokes about one’s horse, no matter how well inten- 
tioned, lose the charm of novelty. 

“ Pity he hasn’t more speed,” said the other, and, with a twitch of 
the reins, he shot his mare a couple of lengths ahead. It was probably 
his scheme to trot a hundred yards or so and then pull up to watch in 
triumph my tardy approach. When he looked over his shoulder, 
however, the bay’s head was close to his wheel. Much surprised, and 
no less disappointed, he brought his animal down to a walk, a proceed- 
ing which I promptly imitated. 

“I’ve been wanting to have a talk with you, Morris,” he said. 
“ It has struck me that we might co-operate a little to our mutual 
advantage.” 

“ Indeed ?” said I, wondering what might be in the old gentleman’s 
mind. 

“ The fact is, I’m getting ancient,” he went on. 

“Not a bit of it,” said I. “You’re in your prime, fair, plump, 
and forty.” 

“ Deny the first, admit the second, and make the third half as much 
again,” said he. “ I’m not broken down, — and I don’t want to be 
before my time. That’s just the point. This last winter gave me a 
warning. Besides, I’ve enough to live on, and I’d like to have a little 
chance for play after forty years of work. I want to travel a bit, to 
see something of this big country of ours. I’m like a mole that 
knows his particular garden by heart, but has hardly a notion of 
what may be on the other side of the fence. The long and short of it 


468 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


is, I’d like to shift my heavy work to younger shoulders, which will 
bear it more easily, and, I dare say, better.” 

“ Not better,” said I. 

“ The fact is, as you’ve probably discovered, this town is hardly 
big enough to support two doctors comfortably. It has seemed to me 
that we might make some arrangement which would be advantageous 
to both of us. There’s a young chap in Trent who is trying to dicker 
with me, but I’ve put him off, for you’re first on the ground, and I 
don’t believe in making two people sleep in a bed that’s large enough 
for only one. By the way, though, am I right in supposing that 
you’ve decided to remain here permanently? That would make a 
difference, of course.” 

“ I can’t say that I have any settled plans,” said I, “ but there’s no 
expectation of moving immediately.” 

“ Well, think it over. There’s no hurry about it,” he answered ; 
and, chirruping to his mare, away he rattled toward the village. 

I followed slowly in his wake, letting the bay choose his own gait. 
Dr. Banks’s proposition had taken me by surprise ; moreover, it had 
served to rouse me to a realization of the completeness with which my 
future was subject to the caprices of fate. For the present, to be sure, 
there was no cause for anxiety ; but a week might change the situation 
completely. Suppose Lamar should choose to depart ; there was no 
certainty that he would not leave me behind. Suppose he should die ; 
it was hardly probable that I should profit by any bequest. Suppose 
his enemies should discover his retreat and descend upon him ; the 
result, so far as I was concerned, would be the same. This last danger 
seemed to be the least imminent of the three, but it was as well to 
reckon it in. I had been in his pay for the better part of a year, but, 
in reality, was my position improved ? I had lived in comfort, free 
from the cares which had burdened me in the city, I had accumulated 
a few hundred dollars, and physically I had been a gainer by the 
removal to the country. That was one side of the ledger. On the 
other could be read loss of the little progress I had made in my pro- 
fession, absence of settled purposes of any sort, and a growth of that 
often disastrous docility which follows unquestioning subjection to 
another’s strong will. Things could not go on as they were indefinitely. 
Sooner or later the end must come. And then ? Was I prepared to 
devote myself to the narrow field of a country practitioner, useful and 
honorable as it was? Banks had done me a great service; he had 
roused me in most timely fashion ; but the awakening had been far 
from pleasant. 

From habit my horse came to a stand-still in front of the village 
post-office, and equally from habit I entered the place and asked for 
my mail. A letter, a medical journal, and a newspaper were handed 
out, and, mechanically thrusting them into my pocket, I walked to the 
buggy, climbed in, and turned my nag’s head homeward. Still pos- 
sessed by doubts and speculations, I rode to the farm-house, and, reach- 
ing it, locked myself in my office, there to endeavor to arrive at some 
conclusion, to choose a way out of my uncertainty. I sat there for 
hours before I achieved a decision, and it was hardly more than a com- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


469 


promise. In justice to Dr. Banks, I would tell him it was out of my 
power to enter into a permanent arrangement with him, for eventually 
I should seek a more populous district ; if he cared for a temporary 
alliance, such terms as he offered should be accepted. 

Catching sight of the newspaper in my pocket, I drew it out, and, 
as I did so, the letter fell from its folds to the floor. I picked it up 
and read the address, written in a feminine hand, all angles and straight 
lines, like the framework of a house, yet clear and legible. The post- 
mark was New York. With waxing curiosity, for my correspondence 
was extremely limited, I broke the seal. 

“ My dear Dr. Morris,” the letter ran, “ my aunt, Mrs. Loring, 
desires to learn whether it will be convenient for you to receive her as 
a patient, and whether rooms can be secured for us near your office. 
She has tried a number of treatments since the voyage from B.io, but 
none of them has been of marked benefit to her. She remembers 
gratefully the success attending your ministrations on shipboard, and 
feels confident that your skill will bring her the relief she has sought 
so long. She asks me to add that this plan was in her mind when our 
chance meeting made it possible to secure your address. 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“ Dorothy Gray.” 

Again and again I read these lines, poring over them as joyously 
as ever did Egyptologist over freshly discovered hieroglyphs which set 
at rest a much mooted point. Out above the rest of the letter stood 
two words, “ for us.” Mrs. Loring’s niece would hardly leave her, 
but here was proof that both of them would come to Rodneytown. 
That I could succeed in convincing the elder lady that nothing serious 
ailed her was hardly possible; it was quite on the cards that after a 

month or two she would depart in a huff; but, in the mean time 

Well, I didn’t trouble myself with the details of that problematical 
period. The great central point of interest was that for several weeks, 
at least, Dorothy Gray and I would be thrown together. For the 
moment Lamar, Banks, and all my recent worries were forgotten. 

“Mrs. Weston,” said I, pouncing upon that good woman as she 
passed the door of the office, “ please do me a great favor. I have an 
old friend — patient, I mean — who is anxious to put herself under my 
care. I must find a boarding-place for her. Can’t you take her in?” 

“ Well, now, I’d real like to, doctor, but I ain’t got the room,” she 
answered, with kindly regret in her tone. “Is she all by herself?” 

“ No, she isn’t,” I confessed. “ Her niece is with her.” 

“ Little girl, is she?” 

“ No ; a young lady,” I answered, trying to avoid the consciousness 
of a twinkle in my hostess’s eye. 

“ It’s too bad, I’m sure, but we’re a pretty full house as it is,” said 
she. “ However, don’t get discouraged. Try Mis’ Clark across the 
road : she don’t use half that big house since her boys went out West. 
It’ll be a good place, too : Mis’ Clark’s a good provider, and as neat as 
a hull paper of pins.” 


470 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


Over the way to the house of Clark I hastened, only to find its 
mistress disinclined to receive boarders. “City folks’ notions,” she 
averred, were not to be endured. But she began to relent a little when 
I put her yielding on the ground of a personal favor; and when I 
dwelt generously on Mrs. Weston’s praise of her as a housekeeper, she 
led me up-stairs to two rooms, spick and span and very comfortable 
withal, and, with pretended ungraciousness, said that my friends could 
occupy them, provided they could “ stand plain livin’ and plainer com- 
p’ny.” I closed the bargain on the spot. 

Mrs. Weston met me at her door, on my return late that afternoon 
from a drive, in the course of which the answer to Miss Gray’s letter 
had been intrusted to the mail. 

“ You look like a new man,” said she, approvingly. “ Sakes alive ! 
how gettin’ a new patient does perk you young doctors up !” 

“ The more the merrier, of course,” said I. 

“ You’re lucky to get two such special suff’rers. You’ll be gettin’ 
rich, what with the new one and the old one over yonder.” 

She pointed to the house on the knoll, which showed a dark spot 
among the lowlands lying about it fresh and green and bright in the 
slanting rays of the setting sun, now nearing the crests of the hills to 
the west. 

“ Seems like a blot on our landscape, don’t it ?” she said, with her 
eyes still fixed on the sombre mound. 

“ Yes,” thought I, “ perhaps in more ways than one.” 


IX. 

One evening, about a fortnight later, I stepped out of my office for 
the double purpose of enjoying a pipe and a stroll in the open air. 
The hour was late, at least for that community of early rising and 
early retiring, and few lights were to be seen in any of the cluster of 
farm-houses. A faint gleam from one of the upper rooms of the 
house across the way showed that Mrs. Loring was wooing slumber 
under the protection of her night-lamp. She and her niece, having 
arrived that day, were now in full possession of their new quarters. 
Both had stood the journey well. Mrs. Loring, in fact, was never 
more cheerful than when on the wing. The invalid had greeted me 
with effusion, while Miss Gray had displayed a cordiality that was 
almost too full of friendliness and too lacking in self-consciousness to 
please my fancy. Cheerful good-fellowship was perhaps all that I had 
reason to expect in her, yet it was not a very flattering result of many 
a Ute-a-tete in the moonlight of the tropics. 

The night was clear, and, though there was no moon, it was pleasant 
to stroll along, reviewing the events of our acquaintance and specu- 
lating upon the effects of its renewal. I was following the path to the 
knoll, and so engrossed were my meditations that on raising my eyes 
from the ground I was surprised to find myself close to the base of its 
landward slope. I was on the point of turning back, when I heard a 
voice, recognizable as Lamar’s, which seemed to come from the northern 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


471 


side of the little hill, at the base of which, as has been set forth, was 
one of the salt-water creeks. The words were not to be distinguished, 
but his tone gave evidence that the business he was engaged in had 
nothing alarming about it, although, from the hour selected for carry- 
ing it on, it was likely that he desired to avoid observation. It might 
be well to prove to him that even at such a time and place he could 
not be sure that some loiterer was not about, and to give a practical 
illustration of the need of a sentinel ; at least that was the excuse I 
framed for advancing. Cautiously I stole by the spring and up the 
ascent. On the dark surface of the creek the still darker outlines of a 
boat could be made out. The craft was moored to the rocks, to which a 
man was transferring a number of cases and packages. A little way 
up the slope, directing the operation, stood Lamar. Intent as he was 
upon the task in hand, his quick ear caught the sound of my steps, and 
he turned toward me like a flash. 

“ It’s I, — Morris,” I called out. It was too dark to perceive his 
motion clearly, but I thought I detected a swift movement of his right 
hand toward the breast of his coat. 

“ Ah ! You are a rambler until late,” he answered. Startled as he 
must have been by the interruption, he spoke with all his usual delib- 
erate coolness. 

u Yes; I was wakeful, and happened to walk this way. Hearing 
unusual sounds, I pushed on to investigate. There was a chance, you 
know, that a reinforcement might be acceptable.” 

There was nothing in his manner to indicate whether the explana- 
tion satisfied him. 

“ Johnson brings a small cargo, supplies that might cause talk if 
obtained through the village,” said he. “ He will place them presently 
in the house.” 

“ An excellent plan. He buys them at the larger ports up the coast, 
I suppose.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ There seems very little danger that any one should stumble upon 
you while the goods are being landed,” said I, “ but my experience to- 
night shows that it is possible. It might be advisable to post a sentry, 
for if a rumor of these midnight labors got about it would set the village 
by the ears.” 

“ Hereafter the precaution shall be taken. Remain a little,” he 
added, as I was about to go. “ I, too, am wakeful. Let us converse.” 

He led the way to the front of the house and seated himself on the 
door-step. 

“ How of your medical practice ?” he asked, when I had found a 
resting-place near him. 

I told him of Mrs. Loring’s arrival and of the probability that she 
would remain a considerable time in the neighborhood. She was an 
old acquaintance, I added. That I had met her on the voyage from 
Rio seemed to be a detail which it was as well not to mention. Had 
he learned it he might have displayed a livelier interest in the matter. 
As it was, however, he merely said that it was to be hoped that she 
would recover her health, and then changed the subject to remark that 


472 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


he desired me to bring him a considerable sum of money in the course 
of a day or two. 

“It is for Johnson,” he condescended to explain. 

“Very well; you shall have it,” said I. “ By the way, is your 
telegraph line to his house still in working order ?” 

“ Yes ; but it is not a telegraph, only a simple signal,” he answered. 
“ Enter, if you choose, and I will elucidate it.” 

We stepped into the living-room, on one wall of which he showed 
me a knob, so tiny as hardly to be noticeable. By pressing it, he ex- 
plained, a metal disk was made to fall at the other end of the line, 
conveying the intelligence to the fisherman that he was to hasten to his 
employer. If he was absent from home, one of his brothers would 
respond to the summons. 

“ But if all three are away ?” I asked. 

“ That will not occur,” he replied, decidedly. 

“ But in case they are asleep ?” 

“ The disk, in falling, strikes a gong. There is provision for the 
chance.” 

Here was a further illustration of the ingenuity the man displayed 
in preparing for possible dangers. But, if he had taken the pains to 
insure support from Johnson in case of need, why had he not arranged 
a method of calling upon me also? Bather piqued, in spite of my 
dislike for him, I asked bluntly if some signal could not be devised. 

“ It is not a necessity,” said he, dryly. And even had I been 
disposed to argue the point there would have been no opportunity to 
do so, for Johnson entered the room, staggering under the weight of 
one of the cases. He gave me his customary curt nod, and carefully 
deposited his burden upon a table, Lamar stepping to the door and 
beckoning me to follow him before I could more than guess at what 
the contents of the case might be. But I walked home that night 
possessed by a notion that, when the cover was removed, a small 
arsenal might be found stowed away in the box, designed to supple- 
ment the brace of revolvers I had bought for Lamar soon after our 
coming to the shore. 


X. 

There was a struggle the following morning, in which courtesy and 
obstinacy were finely blended, when Mrs. Loring and her medical ad- 
viser came together for a discussion of her case. The points at issue 
were the length, particularity, and minuteness with which she should 
describe her symptoms, real or imagined, the systems of treatment to 
which she had been subjected, the effects, good, bad, or indifferent, 
produced by them, and the opinions thereof, weighty or valueless, of 
many persons unknown to her auditor. It was a contest, valiant but 
unequal, and at last the woman had the man at her mercy. 

“ Oh, doctor, dear doctor,” she rattled on, “ you can’t imagine how 
pleased — yes, rejoiced — I am to be under your care. I wish I could 
tell you, describe to you, the miseries I’ve suffered, the horrors I’ve 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


473 


undergone at the hands of those wretches. Ugh ! it makes me shiver to 
think of them. But I can’t tell you ; I can’t bear even to think of them. 
Now there was that last one, so highly recommended, too. I went to 
him, doctor, — picture my going to him, — absolutely putting my life in 
his charge, doctor, — -just after I had escaped from that quack who had 
made me take electric shocks and ride a horse — such a dreadfully hard 
trotting horse, too — four hours every day. And what, doctor, do you 
imagine that next wretch did ? Think of it ! He thrust me into what 
he called a 1 rest-cure ;’ absolutely nothing to do, nothing to see, nobody 
to speak to. Why, doctor, it was maddening, simply maddening !” 

“ My dear Mrs. Loring,” I broke in, “ pray do not agitate yourself 
with such memories. If you please ” 

But she had regained breath and was again in full career. Rest- 
cures, water-cures, milk-cures, steam-cures ; drenchings internal and ex- 
ternal; pills, pads, and plasters; sea-air and mountain-air; massage, 
calisthenics, and out-door exercise ; drugs by wholesale, diets without 
number, treatments representing a range from the latest and best in 
medical science to a close approach to the superstitions of voudooism, 
— all these she had survived. For two long hours her tale flowed on 
in a flood which overwhelmed all interruptions, and when she paused 
at last it was rather from weariness than from an exhausted subject. 

For a woman of such experiences she looked remarkably well. Her 
complexion was pale and sallow, and her nerves were “ on edge,” as 
she herself phrased it ; but the stethoscope showed that her lungs were 
not affected, and there was nothing to cause alarm in the action of the 
heart. Her digestion was weak, — it could hardly have been otherwise 
after the trials to which it had been put for so many years, — and un- 
questionably she had had some genuine twinges of rheumatism, but 
these were not very weighty reasons for traipsing about two hemispheres. 
As many of my predecessors had probably decided, it seemed clear to 
me that the best plan to pursue was to let her entertain herself with 
some harmless dose, and to strive to induce her to forget that she be- 
lieved herself an invalid. 

“ Your case, Mrs. Loring, is most interesting,” said I, gravely. 

“ And complicated,” said she, earnestly. u So many physicians 
have spoken of complications.” 

“ They could hardly avoid it. But that is not the point just now. 
I shall have to ask you to submit implicitly to my guidance. I shall 
give you a prescription of great efficacy, but one which must be used 
with rigid care. You will arise at a regular hour, — let us say seven 
o’clock. You will then take three drops of the medicine in a wineglass 
of water, — the glass must be full to the brim. Then go out of doors and 
walk slowly for fifteen minutes in the sunniest spot available, not for 
exercise, of course, but in order to have the circulation at its best to 
promote the action of the delicately powerful combination of drugs. 
I will arrange with Mrs. Clark for your breakfast diet. After break- 
fast you will sit in the open air for an hour, at the end of which time 
you will take a walk or ride. Don’t return from it until the dinner- 
hour, when you may take a second dose. Rest for an hour after dinner, 
and then pass your time as you please out of doors. A third dose 


474 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


should be taken at supper-time, and a fourth before retiring. I rely 
upon you to carry out these directions to the letter.” 

“ Indeed I will,” she promised, and then her face fell, and she 
leaned toward me as she asked, “ Doctor, have I a tuberculous diath- 
esis? There was a Frenchman, such a delightful man I thought at 
first, who talked so beautifully about that. Tell me truly, do you 
think I have one?” 

“ Mrs. Loring,” I declared, earnestly, “ take my word for it, you 
have nothing to fear on that score.” 

“ But there was that London doctor,” she persisted, “ he said that 
I was anaemic; and he looked so wise, with his great white beard like 
an ancient sage. If it had not been for the snuff, perhaps — but, doctor, 
do please tell me if he was mistaken : I had to give him up ; really, 
doctor, I had to ; the snuff was too much.” 

“ Another instance of groundless fears,” said I. 

“And hereditary tendencies? so many advisers have spoken of 
them, doctor, but always so indefinitely ; that is, all but one was in- 
definite, and he — would you believe it, doctor? — he insisted that there 
must be gout in the family, and he would have it so, though I knew, 
doctor, I knew he must be mistaken, for I never remembered — never, 
doctor, never — my father suffering in his feet but once, and then, doctor, 
I know it was chilblains ; I’m sure it was, doctor.” 

“ Really, Mrs. Loring,” I urged, “ you have no cause of complaint 
against your ancestors, except possibly in that you inherit from them 
susceptibilities of unusual keenness. There can hardly be an escape 
from some of the penalties nature exacts from the possessor of an ar- 
tistic temperament. The finest porcelain demands the gentlest handling. 
I think you catch my meaning.” 

“ Just as I have thought, so many, many times,” she declared, with 
a smile of delight. “You put it so feelingly, doctor, — so feelingly. 
You can’t realize how rejoiced I am to know that I am under your 
treatment. I shall expect you to accomplish wonders, doctor, really 
wonders.” 

“ We shall do our best, you and I, and much can be counted on 
from the medicine you are to take. But remember, please, that the 
directions for its use are to be followed exactly.” 

Her face brightened. 

“You won’t mind showing me the prescription, will you?” she 
said. “ I dearly love to see them, although of course I can’t read 
them. They’re like the hieroglyphics in the museum, so interesting 
and instructive; don’t you think so, doctor?” 

“ Why, certainly you can see it,” said I, scribbling away on a sheet 
of my note-book. “ Here it is.” 

She took the paper, and surveyed it with something approaching 
awe, in spite of her long acquaintance with such documents. 

Probably it was well for both of us that she could make nothing 
of it. There was quassia, to give an impressively vigorous flavor to 
the compound ; tincture of asafoetida, for the sake of its bouquet ; 
burnt sugar, to supply the proper color effect; and aqua pura to the 
amount of eight ounces. It would be an evil-tasting, evil-smelling, 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


475 


evil-looking mixture, quite capable of satisfying the patient’s craving 
for gruesome potions, but harmless enough, notwithstanding its warnings 
to the senses. 

“ So reassuring, isn’t it, doctor, to have things in black and white?” 
said she. “ One sees them so much more vividly, don’t you know?” 

“ Proof of the value of the eyes, Mrs. Loring.” 

“ Indeed it is. That thought has occurred to me often, yes, so 
often.” She sighed gently, as if there were something melancholy in 
the reflection. 

“ I shall drive to Bassettville this afternoon to have the prescription 
made up,” I told her as I bade her good-morning ; and her thanks 
pursued me as I hastened down the stairs and out of the house. Once 
out of range of her sight and voice, I paused to wipe my forehead, as 
a man will after finishing a long and trying task, no matter whether 
he be philosopher or navvy. I had a very kindly feeling for Mrs. 
Loring, and it was as much a part of my business to listen to her 
plaints as it was to endeavor to remove their cause, but no amount of 
reiteration of the fact sufficed to reconcile me to the infliction. She 
spoke so rapidly, and with so many exclamations, that her talk jarred 
on one’s nerves as quickly as a brisk but irregular hammering. The 
lot of her niece, as her constant companion, was not to be envied ; it was 
strange that it was not the girl who was in need of medical attendance. 
What an agreeable patient Miss Gray would have been ! But, after 
all, I reflected, Dorothy Gray well was to be preferred to Dorothy Gray 
ill. And the next reflection, in natural sequence, was, where was she 
to be found ? 

No one was visible about the Clark premises ; evidently the young 
lady was out for a stroll. Somewhat regretfully, I crossed the road to 
Mrs. Weston, who was enjoying one of her rare respites from house- 
hold duties. 

“ I’ve got a new hired man,” she proclaimed ; “come ’long to-day, 
and I jes’ hired him on the spot. My, but it’s a relief! Till them 
boys grow up I’ll never feel real easy unless we’ve a good, steady man 
on the farm.” 

“ Who is he ? and where’s he from ?” I asked, knowing that a 
failure to evince interest in her acquisition would be highly unwise. 

“I guess he’s a tramp, though he looks kinder spruce for one 
of ’em. His name’s Hiram Jones. You can see him weedin’ over 
yonder.” 

“It strikes me he’s a little awkward at it,” I suggested, after a 
brief survey of the new-comer. 

“ Well, he comes cheap ; seemed like he’d take ’most anything, he 
was that set to get work.” 

“ Then he’s not a tramp,” said I. “ By the way, will you have 
him harness my horse about two o’clock? Excuse me,” I added, 
hastily, for Miss Gray had come into view as she turned the corner of 
the house over the way, — “ excuse me, I want to speak to that young 
lady.” 

The girl saw me as I hurried toward her, and, "pausing, awaited me 
at the porch steps. 


476 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


" Good-morning, doctor,” she said, with a hint of a smile, perhaps 
at the speed with which I had made toward her. 

“ Good-morning,” I responded. “I hope you find your rooms 
comfortable?” 

“ They are very pleasant. But what do you think of my aunt?” 

“ Oh, she’s well enough,” said I, unguardedly. “ That is, I mean, 
she’s well enough comparatively ; well enough, you know, to encourage 
me greatly, though you of course understand, far better than I can tell 
at first, how much she suffers.” 

She probably gauged my diagnosis correctly, although she said, 
gravely, “ I am very glad to learn that you are hopeful.” 

“Of course we cannot expect any rapid improvement,” I added, 
in my most professional tone. “ Chronic cases involve slow recoveries.” 

“ I must go to her now,” said the girl, paying, it seemed to me, 
rather slight heed to the great truth I had stated. “ I’m afraid I’ve 
sadly neglected her this morning.” 

“ I am going to drive to Bassettville this afternoon at two o’clock 
to have a prescription filled,” I hastened to say. “ I should be de- 
lighted to have you come with me. You couldn’t have had an oppor- 
tunity to enjoy the scenery when you went over the road yesterday. 
Please come, do ; the views are very pretty.” 

“But my aunt?” said she, doubtfully. 

“ It will do her good. The fact that I advise you to leave her for a 
few hours will prove to her that she is already beginning to pick up in 
this splendid, vitalizing atmosphere. Besides, as we ride along, I can 
post you on the treatment mapped out for her.” 

There was quiet amusement in her eyes as she listened to this in- 
genuous plea, but she permitted it to end her hesitancy, — which was 
all it was designed to accomplish. 

“ The day is too alluringly charming,” she said. “ I can’t resist the 
temptation. I shall be ready at two.” 

As I turned from the porch I had a glimpse of Mrs. Weston’s 
face disappearing through her door-way, and from its cheery smile 
I conjectured that the good soul heartily approved of the little scene 
which had taken place across the way. 


XI. 

Hiram Jones, the new farm-hand, certainly had one merit, — he 
obeyed orders. Precisely at two o’clock my horse and buggy stood 
before the office door. The fact that he was on time made me study 
the fellow’s looks, as one gazes with interest at some prodigy developed 
in an altogether unexpected place. He was stout and well built, with 
little of the slouching clumsiness of the typical ploughboy. His face, 
though far from stolid, was not attractive, and several days’ growth of 
beard helped to lessen such slight claims to comeliness as it might have 
possessed. His garments were coarse and stained, and his boots were 
old and worn. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 477 

“ You’re prompt,” I observed, as he relinquished the reins. “ It’s 
a good plan.” 

“ It’s easy ’nougli,” he answered, gruffly, and, turning on his heel, 
walked away. 

At another time his manner might have annoyed me, but just then 
I had other interests in life than speculations as to the crudities of 
farm-laborers’ civilization. Miss Gray was ready for the start, and in 
a moment or two the bay was leisurely beginning his afternoon’s work, 
to all appearances the sleepiest old roadster in the State. I had thought 
the vehicle well enough in its way, but now I noticed the dust on its 
body and the cakes of dried mud on the tires and spokes, and a sus- 
picion crossed my mind that horse, carriage, and very possibly driver 
contrasted oddly, and not to their advantage, with the trim, well- 
dressed young person beside me. 

“ I believe I can guess your thoughts,” I said, not too amiably. 
“ You’re marvelling at my fiery steed. Am I right?” 

“ In part, yes,” she answered ; “ but only in part.” 

“ And what do you think of him?” 

“ That he is very quiet and gentle, and very well suited to a physi- 
cian’s uses.” 

“ So far, so good ; but is that all ?” 

“ About the horse, yes.” 

“May I risk asking if your thoughts turned from him to his 
master ?” 

There was a little pause before she spoke, and, looking at her out 
of the corner of my eye, I thought her cheek flushed a bit. 

“ It was merely a question which suggested itself,” she said. “ I 
was wondering whether the evident fitness of the horse for his work 
meant that his master looked upon this village as his permanent 
field.” 

It was now my turn to hesitate. 

“ Keally,” I said, at last, “ it is a hard question to answer. I can 
say neither yes nor no. I can’t get beyond the present. May I not be 
content with that?” 

“ Do you think it is enough for you, — for any young professional 
man ?” 

“But if it satisfies me?” 

“ Does it ?” 

“ At this particular instant, yes ; at other times, when I can’t get 
away from myself, no.” 

There was another pause, and when she spoke again it was to ask 
me the routine to be followed by her aunt. While I described it, she 
listened as soberly as if she had no room to doubt that the invalid was 
close to death’s door. Before the recital was finished we had begun to 
traverse one of the level stretches. I tightened the reins, and the bay 
lengthened his strides ; a chirrup or two, and his lazy air was shaken off 
and his hoof-beats rang quick and sharp upon the hard road. Away we 
went at a pace far below his best, but one which would have left most 
of the local trotters hopelessly in the rear. Pulling him up when we 
reached a rise in the grade, I turned to the girl a little triumphantly. 


478 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


The swift motion had brought a new light into her eyes, and the rush 
of the wind had heightened her delicate color. 

“That was delightful, i ” she cried. “Let me confess at once, I 
misjudged your horse cruelly. He has wonderfully exceeded expecta- 
tions.” 

“ The brute has redeemed himself easily,” said I. “ Would it were 
as light a task for the man !” 

“ Perhaps the man has not been misjudged, after all. But come, Dr. 
Morris, you’ve told me almost nothing of your adventures for the last 
two or three years. Surely you must have had some before coming 
here ?” 

“‘The short and simple annals’ — you know the line. The city 
was not generous ; there is almost nothing more to tell. Believe me, 
you are fortunate, indeed, to escape any risk of the monotony of a 
humdrum existence. I envy you the variety of scene and surround- 
ings which has fallen to your lot.” 

“ As if there could be no monotony in variety ; as if one could not 
grow weary of it !” she cried. “ Why, Dr. Morris, it is the superlative 
of monotony. Many a time I’ve been tempted to recall approvingly 
the growls of an irascible old Englishman we met in Spain. ‘ Madam,’ 
said he to my aunt, ‘ take my word for it, all hotels are bad, but some 
are worse than others; all strangers are obnoxious, but some are pesti- 
lential ; all sight-seeing is a weariness of the flesh, and the more one 
has of it the greater the burden becomes.’ ” 

“ And Mrs. Loring ?” 

“His vehemence startled her, and she fled at the first oppor- 
tunity.” 

“ Yet she could have heeded the tirade to advantage. In all sin- 
cerity, let me say that until she consents to settle down quietly for a 
considerable time there is not much hope of effecting her cure. You 
must have observed that on a journey she seems to be at her best, but 
that when the trip is ended there is a reaction, and after a few weeks 
she is off again, finding in the renewed excitement relief which, in 
turn, has to be paid for at a high rate. When her greatest need is 
rest she applies the spur. If ever there was a victim of the travel 
habit, she is one. Can she not be persuaded to give her recuperative 
powers a fair chance to assert themselves ? One can’t do better than to 
let nature alone sometimes. This is plain talk, plainer than I should 
like to address directly to your aunt; but it is due to you, for in many 
ways you can help to put it into practice.” 

“And I will help only too gladly,” said the girl, earnestly. 
“ Please be assured of that.” 

“ Is it a bargain, then ?” 

“ Indeed it is.” 

“ May it be a successful one !” said I. “ And now, Miss Gray, you 
may be pleased to know that from this turn in the road can be had 
the only view of Bassettville which warrants a claim of beauty for the 
place.” 

We drove into the town and turned into its principal street, halting 
in front of the shop of its solitary druggist. While I stood before the 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 479 

counter, waiting for the prescription to be made up, Sam Carpenter 
sauntered in. 

“ I kinder wanted ter see ye,” he remarked, after the weather, the 
state of trade, and town politics had been discussed. “ 'Tain't much, 
but maybe yer'd like ter know about it.” 

“ What's the trouble ?” said I. 

“ Wall, a couple o’ days ago a chap come ter my stable an 7 hung 
round till we got ter talkin'. He didn't seem ter have no special biz’- 
ness agitatin' him, but he did seem all-fired cur'ous. Pretty soon he 
got round ter that old brewer from Charleston, South Car'liny, you're 
doctorin'. Seemed mighty interested in him, — too mighty interested, I 
reckoned. When a neighbor's boy asks me how my apples is gettin' 
on I put it down ter friendliness, but when I catch him up the tree I 
call him too blamed affectionate. So, as this chap was tryin' ter pump 
me, I tried ter pump him, but I guess neither of us got any more satis- 
faction than the schoolmaster did when he tackled the parson's Hebrew 
book, thinkin' it was Greek. Struck me ye might as well know about 
him, though.” 

“ What was his name ?” I asked. 

“ He didn't say.” 

“ Can you describe him ?” 

“ Hefty fer his inches ; old clothes, trousers tucked in his boots ; 
kinder springy in his walk ; more dirt than tan on his face. I kept 
an eye on him, an' saw him, after hangin' round a spell, steer fer the 
Rodneytown road.” 

“ Thanks for the information,” said I. “ Probably he is some 
tramp who has heard yarns about my patient, and, having nothing 
better to do, asks questions to keep talk going. Nevertheless, I'm 
much obliged for the tip.” 

“ That's all right,” Carpenter responded, with the air of a man 
who feels that he has done his duty. “ Say, how's the hoss suitin' 
yer ?” 

“ Excellently. It's a pity, though, there's so little style about 
him.” 

“ If he had style, ye'd never got him fer the price ye paid. He 
ain't the kind of a hoss a pretty girl likes ter hev hitched in front of 
her house on a Sunday afternoon, — that's a fact, — but fer plain week- 
day use he's O. K.” 

“He's hard-mouthed. That's a drawback. Quiet as he is, you 
wouldn't call him a lady's horse, would you ?” 

“ No, I wouldn't,” said Sam, oracularly. “ A lady's hoss — that's 
any good — is as sceerce as an angel hoss ; and angel hosses 's as sceerce 
as angel men.” 

The drive back to Rodneytown was hardly as pleasant as the first 
half of the trip had been, for both of us were inclined to taciturnity. 
Miss Gray doubtless was busy with thoughts of her aunt, while for me 
the afternoon was spoiled by Carpenter's tidings. It had been a luxury 
to forget the house on the knoll, if only for an hour or two, and here 
was this news, very probably of no moment, yet enough to remind me 
of my thraldom, to drag me back to a realization of the fact that 


480 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


Lamar had the first claim upon me. Of course he would have to be 
told of the incident of the suspicious stranger, and told at once, with 
the possibility quite within reason that he would decide to seek a new 
asylum without delay. In that case I might find myself bidding 
Mrs. Loring and her niece an unceremonious adieu, or I might be left 
behind with my chief source of revenue cut off. In either event I 
should be a heavy loser. And, worst of all, I could devise no way in 
which to shake off my helplessness. A hint as to the identity of the 
stranger had suggested itself as soon as Carpenter attempted to portray 
the man. So far as it went, his description fitted the new farm-hand, 
— -just as it probably fitted half the tramps in that region. While the 
story threw suspicion upon the fellow’s motives, and might prove most 
useful as a warning, it was not, of course, in itself sufficient to warrant 
a demand for his discharge. The outcome of all these unsatisfactory 
reflections was a determination to lay the matter before the person most 
interested, and to abide wholly by his judgment. 

Early in the evening, anxious to be done with a bad business as 
speedily as possible, I visited Lamar and told him all I had heard or 
surmised. He listened to the story with the closest attention, asked 
a few questions as to the appearance of the man under suspicion, 
and then, puffing calmly at his eternal cigar, sat in silence for several 
moments, seemingly undisturbed by the possibility of a new compli- 
cation in his affairs. 

“Well,” said I, at last, no longer able to restrain the question, 
“ what are we to do ?” 

“ For the present — nothing. As it is said, ‘ Forewarned is fore- 
armed.’ ” 

“ But this uncertainty must be cleared up. You know better than 
I can why this man may have come here, provided, of course, that he 
has any designs upon you. It’s all theory, you understand, but it is 
strange that he should be working for Mrs. Weston at very low wages, 
unless he has some particular reason for desiring to be in this neighbor- 
hood. Were employment his only object, he could do far better in the 
village. The more I think it over, the plainer it seems he wants to 
be where he can keep an eye on this house.” 

“ It is probable.” 

“Then,” said I, puzzled by his indifference, “can’t something be 
done to checkmate him ?” 

“ It is not necessary. He is of this country ?” 

“ At least I’ll warrant English is his native tongue.” 

“ The case, then, is simple. He labors under a mistake.” 

“ But even that mistake may cause trouble,” I protested. 

“ For the present, not at all. In the end, it is possible,” he 
answered, as coolly as if the matter was of slight concern. 

“What are your directions?” I asked, still by no means satisfied 
with his philosophical view of the case. 

“ Observe him well, study him as you choose, but do not attempt 
to disturb him. These things will suffice. Even if he intrudes here, 
there is no cause for alarm : he shall be suitably received.” 

And, with one of his grim smiles, Lamar bade me good-night. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


481 


XII. 

Hiram Jones, tramp, farm-laborer, busybody, detective, or whatever 
he might be, furnished for a month my principal cause for anxiety. 
Lamar’s indifference to the man’s doings was more than I could explain 
to my own satisfaction ; for, if the owner of the house on the knoll 
had reason to fear any great peril, how was it that he could hear so 
calmly tidings which indicated at least that he was under surveillance? 
It was as if a wily old fox, after a long run from the hunter, should 
sit contentedly watching a stray hound circling about him, instead of 
retreating post-haste out of danger. There was certainly the argument 
that Lamar should know very well the particular point from which he 
was menaced, and the character of the agents likely to be employed 
against him ; but I could not find it convincing. Greatly as I disliked 
him, his apathy fretted me. Even enemies, when fate makes them 
partners, can generally be counted upon to co-operate to win the game. 
Now, here was I, quite ready to do my best to beat our mysterious 
opponents, yet hampered, or at least discouraged, by the indifference of 
the player whose stakes were hazarded upon the result. The situation 
seemed to be entirely false. 

If Jones was a spy, I in turn diligently played the spy upon him. 
No time was lost in confirming his identity with that of the man who 
had aroused Carpenter’s suspicions, a result easily accomplished by 
bringing the horse-dealer on a pretended errand to Rodneytown and 
having Jones at work near the house as he drove by. After this pre- 
liminary, I devoted many hours to watching Mrs. Weston’s retainer, 
without getting much reward for my pains. The man went about his 
various tasks in the most matter-of-fact fashion, apparently concerned 
in nothing beyond them. I had expected that as soon as he learned 
of my daily visits to the house on the knoll he would attempt to 
question me about its occupant ; but not once did he display interest in 
my hermit-patient. In short, the only new ground given for my sus- 
picions was furnished by a habit he developed of solitary strolls about 
the neighborhood when evening put an end to his work on the farm. 
A little of his gruffness had worn off, and, barring this liking for 
lonely rambles, there was nothing to distinguish him from the other 
laborers of the vicinity. Lamar listened patiently to the reports of my 
observations, which appeared to increase his belief that there was no 
cause for immediate alarm, though he still neglected to give the reasons 
for his conviction. It may be that, undisturbed as he was in his own 
mind, he was satisfied to have me maintain vigilance. After all, it 
was not to be denied that standing guard was part of the business for 
which he paid me. 

But the month was a pleasant one, except for Jones and the worries 
he created. Mrs. Loring was doing surprisingly well. Nobody could 
have expected her to regard hecself as anything but a confirmed invalid, 
but with increasing frequency she was enjoying intervals of oblivion 
to the fact that she supposed herself to be a sufferer. She took her 
harmless doses with clockwork regularity, and there was not one of 
the directions given her which was not carried out with scientific 
Vol. LVI.— 31 


482 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


accuracy. Simple food, good air, undisturbed sleep, and trifles enough 
to keep her interested were doing for her what they will do for most 
of the race. Two or three additions had been made to her code of 
directions, with not altogether unselfish motives on the part of her 
medical adviser. For one thing, she now kept a diary, in which she 
wrote her observations of her symptoms. Ostensibly, this was to 
secure, for scientific purposes, a record of the progress of a most 
notable case : actually, it was to save her doctor from a daily flood of 
talk. Then, too, she had been persuaded that it was not wise to have 
her niece constantly with her, the theory followed being that Miss 
Gray had been so long her nurse that their continual association could 
not but remind her of her impaired health. This bit of sophistry was 
far more convincing to the elder woman than to the younger, who, 
though she acquiesced in the arrangement, left me no doubt that she 
regarded the argument as fallacious. Inasmuch, however, as through 
it I secured a great deal more of her society, I was content, my object 
thus accomplished. Moreover, to this day it seems clear to me that 
in forcing Mrs. Loring to throw off somewhat of her acquired feeling 
of helplessness, and to learn that she was not entirely dependent on 
her companion’s ministrations, I did her a great service. So far as the 
girl was concerned, there could be no question of the benefit she 
received from the lessening of her hours of attendance upon her aunt. 
No calling, as we all know, is more noble, more self-sacrificing, than 
that of the nurse ; in none is there greater need of reasonable relax- 
ation from the demands upon body, mind, and spirit ; and never is 
devotion more sadly misapplied than in those cases in which the tribute 
to supposed duty and real affection is paid needlessly or in obedience 
to another’s over-indulged caprice. The light of common sense should 
be strong enough to show the flaw of uselessness in many a picture of 
uncomplaining martyrdom. 

As events proved, the country life was much to Mrs. Loring’s 
taste, in spite of her years of travel and her long sojourns in great 
cities. She struck up friendships with Mrs. Clark, Mrs. Weston, and 
the other housewives of the neighborhood, and, through them, with 
the residents of Rodneytown village, among whom she gained con- 
siderable popularity. She became a regular attendant at the village 
church, and soon was received into the circle of its sewing-society. At 
these things I marvelled and rejoiced, knowing very well that her new 
friends could do more to promote her recovery than all the drugs in 
the pharmacopoeia. Seven days in the week, gossip was better for her 
than tonics. 

It was almost inevitable, in the circumstances, that I should be 
honored often with Dorothy Gray’s company. Long drives together 
over the winding country roads, walks to the show spots of the vicinity, 
and rambles when the moon was doing her best to make mankind 
believe that nothing in the world was wdrth considering but sentiment, 
such pleasing diversions filled many an hour. Sometimes I paused to 
consider how completely the girl was dominating my thoughts. Even 
when a glimpse of Hiram Jones going stolidly about his business re- 
minded me of the uncertainty of my position, I found myself specu- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


483 


lating more about what she might think, if the worst came to pass, 
than about the extent of the misfortune hovering over Lamar’s head, 
and possibly over mine as well. On shipboard we had been very good 
friends, she and I. We were very good friends now, but with a differ- 
ence. What a dull ride I had if she declined to accompany me! how 
the evening dragged if she kept out of sight ! what a wretched sub- 
stitute for her presence was even the best pipe in my growing collection ! 
How was it that when we were together, even if our talk languished, 
the time never passed heavily? How had it come about that I no 
longer debated the question of her beauty, no longer compared her 
with this girl or that? Such questions I asked myself now and then, 
puzzling my brain with endeavors to answer them in any other way 
than the one in which they could be answered. The simple truth of 
the matter was, of course, that I had fallen in love ; but for difficulty 
of comprehension commend me, above all things, to a so-called simple 
truth. Anybody, if he will take the trouble, can follow out a long 
and logical deduction, but to very few men is it given to perceive at 
once the meaning of the thing which, once understood, we call self- 
evident. 

From the vantage-point of later years I have figured out, to my 
own satisfaction at least, that I passed from the comparatively placid 
state of friendship about two weeks after Dorothy Gray’s arrival in 
Rodneytown. The realization of the change came nearly a fortnight 
later, not through any triumph of reason, but through an accident in 
which my part was that of a mere spectator, and which required less 
time in action than it does in telling. Returning one morning from the 
house on the knoll, I sought the young lady, as I usually sought her at 
that hour. Dr. Banks had asked me to look out for two or three of his 
more distant patients, — he had sprained his right arm badly and was 
keeping as quiet as possible, — and that day I had planned a long drive, 
which it was probable she would enjoy. She was not in the house, 
Mrs. Clark said, and I was gazing about rather disconsolately, when I 
caught sight of a parasol showing above the walls of a lane leading to 
an orchard, in the shade of which Miss Gray sometimes passed a 
morning. Setting out in pursuit, I gained upon her so rapidly that 
when I turned into the lane she was not more than a hundred yards 
in the lead. To my surprise, she halted, then turned with a cry, and, 
picking up her skirts, began to scud toward me, in full flight, as I saw 
an instant later, from an old and evil-tempered boar, usually safely 
penned behind Mrs. Clark’s barn, but evidently very much at liberty 
at that particular moment. The brute was close to her. His tusks 
looked as long and sharp as knives; as he galloped on, they came 
nearer and nearer to his prey. I gave a shout and sprang forward, but 
had she been forced to depend upon my aid her danger would have 
been great indeed, for long before I could have reached her the boar 
would have overtaken her. He was right at her heels, when, armed 
with a stout club, Jones sprang over the wall and struck viciously at 
the brute. The blow fell fairly upon the animal’s snout, and ended 
abruptly his pursuit of the maiden, who, however, sped on until she 
ran almost into my arms. I got her hands in mine and took some 


484 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


time to assure her that she was safe, before coming down to the mere 
detail that the farm-hand had been her rescuer. She turned to thank 
the man, but by this time he was some distance up the lane, driving 
the cowed and grunting boar back to his prison. 

“ I envy that fellow,” said I. “ I’d give anything to have had 
that chance he improved.” 

“ Would you?” said she, with a nervous little smile. "It was a 
dangerous privilege. Ugh !” and she shuddered at the recollection. 
“ What a terrible animal that was ! I never was so frightened in all 
my life.” 

“ Let us go back to the house,” I suggested. “ You will hardly 
enjoy a visit to the orchard after such an adventure.” 

“ No, indeed,” she said. “ After this I shall be more careful. I 
have learned something from this experience.” 

“ And so have I,” was my thought, for in that moment of her 
peril the veil of doubts and questions and theories and speculations 
had been torn from my eyes, and I had learned the simple truth which 
explained them all, yet which they had served to hide from me. 


XIII. 

“Sakes alive! what’s keepin’ that Hiram?” 

There could be no mistaking that voice, which penetrated my office, 
though the speaker was out of sight. It was not a voice of smooth 
tones and delicate inflections, yet it was attractive in a homely, every- 
day sort of way, therein resembling its owner. Now and then it grew 
sharp, when circumstances were particularly trying, but it never sug- 
gested nagging. At this particular moment there was in it a note of 
anxiety, which roused me from a pleasant after-dinner half-doze to 
throw up a window and send a glance toward the gate, where Mrs. 
Weston stood, shading her eyes with her hand, the better to peer down 
the road. 

“ What’s the trouble ?” I sang out to her. 

“ That pesky Hiram oughter been back hours ago,” said she. 
“ What can he be a-doin’ of, anyhow ?” 

“ Where did you send him ?” 

“Down to the beach with the team, after a load of gravel.” 

“ Perhaps he’s been bogged. It’s quite possible, if he didn’t keep 
his eyes open. Just where did you bid him go?” 

“ I told him the best place was the South Cove, but he might find 
some good ’nough at a pinch near Johnson’s. Whichever place he 
went, he oughter be back. I want to see him partic’lar this afternoon.” 

“ So do I. If he turns up in the next half-hour, please let me 
know of it.” 

“ Yes, indeed, doctor, I’ll be glad to,” she answered ; and after a 
parting survey of the neighborhood she re-entered the house. It was 
the afternoon following the day on which Jones had come to the aid 
of Miss Gray in such timely fashion, but neither she nor I had yet 
succeeded in getting an opportunity to thank him for his assistance. 


/ 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 485 

Both of us were anxious to prove our gratitude, and Dorothy, as I knew, 
had decided to give him a token of it in the shape of a trinket, a 
quaintly carved watch-charm, which she had picked up in one of her 
trips abroad. All things considered, it was rather a curious choice she 
had made, although the thing was sufficiently pretty to appeal to even 
the untrained instincts of the boor she had every reason to suppose him 
to be. So far as I was concerned, the question was more puzzling, but 
I had determined to offer him money. Whether he would accept it 
was doubtful, but, at any rate, the proffer might be made, with the 
alternative idea of picking out some present later on which would 
meet his approval in case he declined the cash. 

The half-hour passed with no tidings of the missing man. After 
another fruitless survey of the road, Mrs. Weston, dolefully shaking 
her head, vanished again, after once more informing me that his pro- 
longed absence was wholly inexplicable. Presently one of her sons 
brought my horse and carriage to the door, and, somewhat reluctantly, 
I forsook the cool quiet of the office to begin the drive to the 
house of one of the patients whom I was attending during Dr. Banks’s 
convalescence from his injury. Miss Gray was reading in the shade 
of the porch of the house over the way, and, in hopes of persuading 
her to join me, I crossed the road and went up to her. 

“Iieally, I should be delighted, but I’ve promised my aunt to see 
her safely off,” said she, in response to my invitation. “ You know 
she is to take tea in the village, and her hostess is to send for her I 
don’t know at just what hour.” 

“ Oh, then there’s no hope for me,” said I, grumpily. “ However, I 
shall be back in an hour or two. I’m expecting Dr. Banks to call for 
my report of the case, and he may appear before my return. If he 
does, will you kindly ask him to wait for me? Then, too, if Jones 
condescends to drive up with his load of gravel, and you happen to 
speak to him, please be so good as to tell him that I should like to see 
him.” 

“ If you care to wait a little,” she answered, “ we may interview 
him together. The team is in sight now.” 

Looking along the track toward the house on the knoll, I saw Mrs. 
Weston’s horses jogging homeward at a trot, which indicated that the 
wagon they drew could not be loaded very heavily. 

“ Where’s the driver?” Miss Gray asked. “Do you see him?” 

“No, I don’t,” said I. “Quiet as the team is, it must have got 
away from him.” 

One of the boys ran to the approaching horses and stopped them. 
We could see him pick up the reins from the ground, examine the 
wagon, and climb to the seat. By the time he drove up to us, Mrs. 
Weston, Mrs. Clark, and one or two others had joined the group, and 
Mrs. Loring was looking down upon us from the window of her room. 

“ Dorothy, Dorothy !” she called out, “ tell me, tell me, has any- 
thing happened? anything terrible? Where, oh, where is the man? 
Is he dead ? Is he killed ? Oh, Dorothy, I’m sure he must be !” 

“ Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Loring,” said I, saving her niece the 
trouble of explaining that nobody knew more about the matter than 


486 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


she did. “ The horses have probably started for home while Jones’s 
eye was off them. No doubt he’ll be along in an hour or so.” 

She tried to ask more questions, but no one took the time to answer 
them. All of us were busily inspecting the wagon and its steeds. The 
conveyance was loaded to perhaps a quarter of its capacity. One of 
the movable side-boards was gone, but that was the limit of* damage. 

“It’s all plain enough,” said I. “The horses became homesick 
and trotted off, very possibly while Jones, not satisfied with the gravel 
he had found, was prospecting for better. He’ll be here in time for 
supper, with a splendid appetite from his tramp.” 

“I guess that’s about it,” said Mrs. Weston, with a sigh of relief. 
“But it’s queer, I must say. Might as well count it a day wasted.” 

“ Which is a sin — in New England,” I whispered to Miss Gray. 
“ Come, now, can’t you change your mind?” 

She smiled and shook her head. Climbing into the buggy, I 
drove off, wishing her aunt’s teas and social observances in Tophet, 
and trying to resign myself to a dull afternoon. The bay appeared to 
be unusually slothful, but I let him choose his own pace, and away 
we dawdled toward our destination. The sufferer proved to be con- 
valescing satisfactorily; but the doctor’s visit was an event of impor- 
tance, and half an hour passed before I could get away from the sick- 
room. Then came a slow progress back to the Weston residence. As 
I drove up to it, Miss Gray emerged from my office, caught sight of 
me, and called to some one within. A moment later Dr. Banks 
followed her, and hurried out to the road. 

“For God’s sake, Morris, come in as quick as you can,” he cried. 
“ There’s been a terrible piece of business.” 

Reassured as to Dorothy Gray’s safety by the sight of her, and 
therefore ready to deal courageously with the misfortune of anybody 
else, I sprang to the ground and followed Banks into the office. There 
on a lounge lay Jones, his face ashen pale, his eyes closed, and great 
beads of sweat on his forehead ; his breathing was heavy and sterto- 
rous, and broken by low moans. His right boot and the leg of his 
trousers had been cut away, revealing the limb crushed from the knee 
down into a horrible wreck of bone and muscle, with a jagged fragment 
of the tibia protruding through the skin. 

Banks’s eye caught mine for an instant ; both of us read the mean- 
ing of the look we exchanged. 

“No alternative,” said he. 

“ The sooner the better,” I added. 

The senior glanced at his disabled arm. 

“ This puts me out of it,” said he, “ except as I may manage to 
administer the anaesthetic. Have you ever conducted such an opera- 
tion?” 

“ Never. I saw plenty of the sort in my student days, but since 
then — well, I’ve never pretended to be a surgeon, you understand.” 

“Nor, to tell the truth, have I. In fact, I’ve always hated to see 
the knife used. But there’s no question here.” 

“ Let us send to Bassettville for Fowler. I’ve heard he’s a clever 
operator.” 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


487 


“ He is : the idea had already suggested itself to me. But it will 
mean four or five hours, — perhaps more. And whom shall we send ? 
I’m too crippled to be of any use, and you ought to stay here.” 

“ My horse is ready,” said I. “ Now for a messenger.” 

“ Why not let me go?” suggested Dorothy Gray. She had been 
standing behind us so quietly that we had forgotten her presence. “ I 
know the road,” she went on, “ and I think I can manage the horse 
without trouble.” 

“The very person,” cried Banks, before I could utter an objection. 
“ Miss Gray understands the circumstances better than any of us. If 
we send a boy he’ll muddle the story so that Fowler won’t be able to 
make head or tail of it.” 

“ But ” I began. 

“Now, Dr. Morris, please don’t object,” she broke in. “There is 
not the ghost of a reason why I should not go. I realize what Dr. 
Fowler is to do, the operation he will have to perform. I’m not a bit 
afraid of the horse. Besides, as Dr. Banks says, there must be no 
delay ; every moment is precious. Please let me start at once.” 

“ I don’t like the idea,” I protested, but rather feebly in the face 
of her entreaty. It had come, by this time, to be hard to deny her 
anything. 

“After his timely assistance to me,” she went on, “it is only fair 
that I should be allowed to reciprocate, to do some little thing to prove 
my gratitude.” 

“ Very well, go, then,” said I, shortly ; but in the heart of me there 
was a vague feeling of relief that she should so soon repay her obliga- 
tion to the man from whom I certainly had no good to expect : it was 
better for them to be quits as speedily as possible. 

“She will round out a useful day by bringing Fowler here,” said 
Dr. Banks, as we stood watching her hurry off for her hat and gloves. 
“ Did you know that it was she who found him ?” 

“ No,” I answered. “ How did it happen ?” 

“ Her aunt, it seems, must have been a good deal worried about the 
man’s failure to return with his team, and to ease her mind Miss Gray 
promised to keep a lookout for him. At last Mrs. Loring had to start 
for the village, but meantime Miss Gray had caught some of her 
aunt’s fears, and, as soon as she was free, off she started on a hunt of 
her own. She followed the wagon-tracks almost to the house of that 
lonesome patient of yours, Morris. Then the trail turned to the 
southward, almost skirting the edge of the bog. It was a queer route to 
pick out for hauling a heavy load, and soon she had cause to believe that 
Jones had found the road rough, for in one place she saw a heap of 
gravel which undoubtedly had been dumped out of the wagon in some 
way. The ground thereabouts is very low, — a sort of hollow, in fact, 
— and in the depression she found herself out of sight of this house. 
In the other direction she could get a glimpse of your patient’s dwelling, 
but nobody seemed to be stirring about the place. Not many yards 
beyond the gravel she discovered Jones, lying unconscious on the 
ground, with the ruts showing where the wheels of the wagon had 
passed over his leg. He came to a bit, after she reached him, and she 


488 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


was able to make out that he had slipped under the wheels, and had 
been so badly hurt that he was unable to move, and was forced to lie 
there and watch his horses wander away from him, and finally, striking 
the path in this direction, turn into it and trot off homeward. 

“ Miss Gray tried to get assistance from your patient’s ; but, though 
she beat with all her might upon the door, no answer came from the 
house. Then, in despair, she came here. Luckily, I happened along 
just then. We got out a spring-wagon and brought Jones in, — Miss 
Gray accompanying us and helping like the true woman she is, hardly 
faltering once, though you can imagine the job it was to lift him off 
the ground and into the wagon. Well, he’s been in your office for the 
last half-hour, and what little can be done for him has been done. 
It’s a fearful injury he has. I never saw such a mass of fractured bones 
and torn flesh. Amputation is the only hope to save his life.” 

“ What do you consider his chance is ?” I asked. 

The old doctor shook his head doubtfully. 

“ He’s young, and ought to have a fine constitution,” he said, “ but 
it will be a close thing for him, a very close thing, I’m afraid.” 

Dorothy came running up to us. I assisted her into the buggy. 

“ Don’t use the whip ; he’ll go well enough without it,” I coun- 
selled her. “ Remember, he’s hard-mouthed, and that if you get him 
waked up too thoroughly you’ll have trouble holding him.” 

“ I shall remember,” she said, with a smile, and then she added, in 
a voice so low that Banks could not hear her words, “ I am very, very 
grateful to you. You are trusting in me, and you shall not be disap- 
pointed.” 


XIV. 

While we physicians busied ourselves in the room in which the in- 
jured man lay, making such preparations as were in our power for the 
grim event on the result of which a life depended, Dorothy Gray was 
driving briskly along the Bassettville road. The task she had under- 
taken was simple, but none the less important for that fact; she had 
merely to cover more than a score of miles in the shortest time possible. 
For many girls of her acquaintance the undertaking would have been 
the easiest thing imaginable ; and with a good deal of envy she recalled 
the skill shown by one or two of her friends on occasions when the 
moving cause was nothing more weighty than a chance to display 
prowess as a whip. Unfortunately for her, she had seldom held the 
reins over anything more spirited than the lazy animals occasionally 
hired by her aunt on a specific guarantee that in no way could they be 
started out of a slow trot, hardly faster than the walk for which all 
of them evinced a strong preference ; and, although she had gained a 
very fair understanding of the idiosyncrasies of the roadster in front 
of her, her knowledge had the drawback of being for the most part 
theoretical. Still, she had not begun the journey without duly con- 
sidering its conditions, and, on the whole, they were favorable^ to a 
novice. The road was good, though here and there very narrow, as is 
sometimes the case with rural highways; there were no sharp pitches 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


489 


of the kind to shake untrained nerves ; and the horse, so far as she 
knew, was utterly unacquainted with the equine joys of bolting. Not 
to press him at first — that was her plan, for much haste might mean 
little speed in the end. 

For the first half-mile she drove almost leisurely, but when she 
had reached the top of the ridge which bordered the lowlands along 
the shore, she tightened the reins a little, and felt instantly the road- 
ster’s response to the summons. He settled down to the work before 
him as if he liked it, with the long telling stride which covered ground 
with such deceptive ease. A quarter of a mile ahead was a buckboard, 
bearing two passengers and drawn by a horse which, she saw as she came 
closer, was trotting steadily. It surprised her to observe how rapidly 
she overhauled the other conveyance, even when the driver, after a look 
over his shoulder, plied his whip with the evident intention of giving 
her a race. A few hundred yards showed him the hopelessness of the 
contest, and, with native courtesy and perhaps a shrewd guess that his 
own wheels would be the safer for allowing the stranger a generous 
share of the road, he pulled his vehicle well out of the way as she 
sped by him. She caught the look of curiosity on his face as he 
turned in his seat to watch her swift progress. 

There was just the tinge of excitement in the ride to make her 
forget for a time the sorry cause of it. The coolness of approaching 
evening was upon the land, although the sun was still well above the 
horizon, and what little breeze was stirring blew in her face. On she 
went, now across a plain, now surmounting a gentle acclivity, now 
winding along a valley among the low hills, but always with the same 
smooth motion, as steady as it was fleet. An old weather-stained farm- 
house sprang into view on her right. She remembered that it was 
counted as marking the half-way point on the road. A glance at her 
watch showed that, even with her slow start, she had covered a little 
more than five miles in twenty-four minutes. With fifteen or sixteen 
miles yet to be traversed this might be doing too much ; and on the 
next rising grade she set herself to the task of slackening the speed. 
There was somewhat of a struggle between horse and driver, but at last 
she won. More than once was the test repeated before Bassettville was 
reached, but when she turned into the main street of the town her 
watch told her that less than fifty minutes had sufficed to cover the 
first half of the trip. 

A pretty little woman was sitting on Dr. Fowler’s door-step as the 
fair messenger drove up. She came briskly to the gate, and, leaning 
upon it, listened intently to the girl’s brief account of the accident and 
the urgent need of a surgeon’s services. 

“ But the doctor’s away,” the little woman said. “ He has gone 
to Trent, and I don’t expect him back before midnight, — I’m Mrs. 
Fowler, you know.” 

“But can’t we reach him by telegraph ?” Dorothy asked, anxiously. 
“ Is there no way ? The case is so desperate. Isn’t there anything we 
can do ?” 

Mrs. Fowler shook her head. “No,” she answered, regretfully, 
for she was proud of her husband’s surgical skill, “ I shouldn’t know 


490 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


where to address a telegram, and there’s no train till the late one. 
Who is in charge of the case now?” 

“ Dr. Morris — that is, Dr. Banks. I suppose he is in charge, with 
Dr. Morris assisting him.” 

“ Umph ! Dr. Banks — I know him. The other I don’t.” 

The lady’s tone expressed very little confidence in the surgical talent 
of Rodneytown. 

“ Dr. Banks has a sprained wrist, and Dr. Morris is a — a — specialist 
in a — a — nervous diseases,” Dorothy hastened to explain. “ They 
united in sending for Dr. Fowler.” 

“ Oh, I understand,” said Dr. Fowler’s wife, amicably. “ It is 
dreadfully unfortunate that he is away.” 

“ Mrs. Fowler, please advise me,” said Dorothy, earnestly. “ The 
doctors argue that an immediate operation offers the only hope of saving 
the man’s life. I am sent here for a surgeon. I find him gone. What 
should I do?” 

“ There’s nobody else here I’d trust with a cat’s life. Dr. Morse 
— I mean Morris — must operate, or you will have to wait for my 
husband’s return. He can hardly get to Rodneytown before two or 
three o’clock in the morning.” 

A new doubt assailed the girl. How about instruments ? Banks 
and I should have them, she supposed, but there was the chance that 
we were unprepared with suitable appliances. As briefly as possible 
she told Mrs. Fowler what was in her mind. 

“ Sure enough,” cried the little woman. “ I don’t believe old Dr. 
Banks has anything of the sort. We’ll not risk it, anyway.” 

She ran into the house, returning in a moment with a case under 
her arm. 

“ Here’s a set of instruments,” said she. “ Take it : my husband 
has another. Get back to Rodneytown as quick as you can. If they 
decide to wait for Dr. Fowler they can send word over this evening. 
Oh, don’t bother about thanking me : if you ever marry a doctor, 
you’ll be sure ” 

But Dorothy did not wait for the rest of the sentence. A twitch of 
her hand had set the bay in motion, and she was half a dozen yards 
down the street, leaving Mrs. Fowler to ponder over the abruptness 
of her departure. 

Once the town was left behind, the girl lost no time in calling upon 
her nag’s powers, and away he went as readily as if he were fresh from 
his stable. Mile after mile slipped behind them. Soon the half-way 
house joined the procession to the rear. It was growing dusk now, 
and the air was chilly. Her wrists were beginning to ache under the 
pull of the lines, and the thought came to her that perhaps she stood 
in greater need than her horse of a breathing-spell. She tried to pull 
him in on the next rise, but instead of slackening his pace he increased 
it. In vain she tugged and sawed on the bit ; the bay was out of her 
control, and knew it as well as she did. He was trotting as she had 
never seen him trot before, with the blood of a dozen generations of 
picked roadsters coursing hot in his veins. Just ahead she made out 
the dark mass of wood through which the road passed. An instant 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


491 


later she was flying along under the tunnel-like arch where the boughs 
of the trees met above the travelled way. In the gloom of this passage 
she could make out little of the road, though she leaned from the 
buggy in the effort to see what might be in her course. Then the 
wood was left behind, and about her was the twilight of the open 
country, seeming almost bright by comparison with the tangle of 
shadows through which she had sped. The bay, untiring, but with 
flecks of foam showing here and there on his coat, was trotting with 
the smooth precision of a machine. It was glorious to watch him, to 
hear the sharp beat of his hoofs. Powerless as she was, the exhilara- 
tion of the race took possession of her ; she caught herself encouraging 
the animal with her voice; she forgot the pain in her wrists, the very 
real danger in which she was placed. She thrilled with delight as 
she flashed by a wagon whose occupant had prudently driven into the 
ditch to afford her a clear right of way. He called 
to her, but, though she heard his voice, the words were 
able. 

At last she was at the summit of the ridge looking down upon the 
beach, and her destination was close at hand. Again she sawed and 
tugged at the lines. Slowly her efforts told ; gradually the bay’s speed 
decreased, until, as he neared the farm-house, she had him well in hand. 
Mrs. Weston, one of her boys, Mrs. Clark, and two or three children 
were awaiting her at the gate, all eager to learn the result of her mis- 
sion. Dr. Banks and I were close behind them, and, as the horse came 
to a stop, we pushed our way to the side of the buggy. 

“You’ve made wonderful time,” I cried. 

“Where’s Fowler? Is he following you?” asked Banks. 

“ He can’t be here for six or eight hours,” she said, quietly. “ But 
here is a case of instruments.” 

Banks and I looked at each other, appalled by the news. 

“ Dr. Fowler is in Trent,” the girl went on. “ He is expected 
home at midnight. It is arranged that if you need him then, a message 
shall be sent to him.” 

With his sound hand Banks lifted the case from the buggy. 

“ This is serious, very,” he said in my ear. “ We can’t wait for 
him : it’s out of the question. Join me in your office as quickly as 
you can.” 

I nodded, and turned to assist Miss Gray to the ground. Young 
Weston led the horse away. 

“ Come,” said I to the girl, “ you must have some supper. By the 
looks of the horse, as well as the clock, I can see that you’ve taken 
nobody’s dust on the road. You must tell me all about it after a 
while.” 

“ I was in Bassettville hardly forty minutes ago,” said she, with a 
look at her watch. “ But how is he? Have you any more hope?” 

“He is doing as well as anything human could after such a crush- 
ing and mangling, but our opinion is not changed.” 

She left me, and walked away slowly and dispiritedly. The re- 
action after the excitement of her ride was already upon her. Almost 
as depressed in spirit as she, I made my way to the office. Banks had 


out a warning 
indistinguish- 


492 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


opened the case, and was inspecting its contents. The room, in expec- 
tation of Fowler’s arrival, had been prepared for the operation. 

“ It is fortunate she brought these, Morris,” said Banks. “ I’m 
afraid my old tools would have answered poorly. What a head she 
must have on her shoulders to have thought of borrowing the case ! 
She is a noble woman, Morris, a woman in ten thousand.” 

“ Indeed she is.” 

“ Best get to work at once,” Banks added. “ Come, are you 
ready ?” 

A first capital operation ! How the student looks forward to it, 
how he pictures in imagination the moment when the knife enters the 
flesh, how he dwells upon the surroundings, the attendants, the bright, 
keen blades flashing back the light, the odor of the anaesthetic, the 
subject lying there on the table, maimed, diseased, his life dependent 
upon the skill of the surgeon’s hand and eye ! Small wonder the 
novice’s heart throbs with pride in the profession he has chosen; small 
wonder he thinks it the noblest and best in the choice of man. To 
cut to cure, to shed blood to save, — to him it seems to represent the 
highest development of the progress of his race. But when, long 
afterward, perhaps, this same student, now a general practitioner, finds 
himself confronted with the ordeal, — ah, that is different. Between 
these days and those others when he hurried to the hospital amphi- 
theatre stretch years in which his confidence may have waned, his 
memory of the scene about the operating-table grown dull. There is 
no cowardly desire upon him to shirk the responsibility, — his profes- 
sional training would count for little did it not insure him against 
such weakness, — but he understands the extent of that responsibility. 
As a student-spectator he watched the work of specialists ; now, as an 
operator, it is his duty to endeavor to approach their skill as nearly as 
lies in his power, though the knife comes strange and unaccustomed to 
his hand. Mind you, I am not speaking of the hundreds in every 
thousand of the profession to whom surgery stands as the best-loved 
branch of their art, nor yet of those who have achieved unhesitating, 
unflinching obedience to the mandates of duty, but of those others, 
among whom I count myself, who find themselves possessed, no matter 
what their experience, by a reluctance to ply the knife, even while 
they prepare for the ordeal the necessity of which they realize. Is the 
feeling rare? It is seldom expressed, it is true, but nevertheless it 
often exists, none the less poignant for its concealment. I have never 
conquered it, though I have taken part in many an operation since the 
one performed in the low-ceiled room of the farm-house. 

As Banks had said, the hope of the patient’s recovery rested on his 
sturdy constitution. Since his removal to the house Jones had had 
several intervals of consciousness, although for the most part he lay in 
a state of semi-stupor. More than once I caught the word “ mistaken” 
in his rambling talk, when the fog cleared away from his brain, and 
the memory of Lamar’s enigmatic observation flashed upon me ; but 
it was no time to speculate upon the coincidence. 

Banks was at the injured man’s head, ready to apply the chloro- 
form. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


493 


“ You’ll need an assistant, Morris,” said he. “ Get somebody who 
can be depended upon to keep his senses and hand you the right thing 
when you call for it. Who is available?” 

There were two or three wide-eyed faces against the window-panes, 
but I knew too well how much reliance could be placed upon their 
owners. Banks understood my hesitation. Stepping to the door, he 
called out, — 

“ Miss Gray.” 

She could not have been far away, for she responded to the sum- 
mons before I could make protest. Banks tersely told her what was 
wanted. 

“ I will do my best,” she said. Her voice was steady, but, as she 
entered the room and came into the glare of the lamps, her face showed 
pale and drawn. 

“ It will be a severe test of your nerves,” said I. “ Don’t under- 
take it if ” 

“ I am quite ready,” she said, quietly but decisively. 

“ And I’ll warrant her nerves,” said Banks. “ Miss Gray, please 
hold out your hand. No shaking there, Morris,” he added, with a 
little triumph. 

“ No, there’s too much tension,” I thought, but did not put the 
opinion into words. Banks passed her an apron, — it was an old one 
of Mrs. Weston’s, — and she took the station he pointed out to her and 
listened attentively to the simple directions he gave. 

There is a place for elaborate descriptions of amputations, but, I 
hold, it is to be found within the covers of technical publications. 
There is no good reason for setting down here all that we did, from 
the administering of the chloroform and the applying of the tourniquet 
to the fastening of the last bandage. The leg was taken off a few 
inches above the knee ; the operation was successful, as the term is. 
Dorothy Gray did all that was asked of her, and did it well. Only 
once did she flinch, — that was when a tiny spurt of blood from a 
severed vessel stained her apron ; but, even then, in an instant she was 
again self-controlled, attentive, ready. From first to last I do not 
think she glanced once toward the face covered by the handkerchief 
saturated with chloroform. When our task was done, and Jones had 
been borne to the bed in an adjoining room which had been prepared 
for his reception, I turned to find her leaning against the wall, her 
eyes looking straight before her and the fingers of her clasped hands 
working spasmodically. She started violently when I touched her 
arm, and gazed at me as wildly as one roused from an appalling 
dream. 

“Here, here, Miss Gray,” said I, “this won’t do at all. We 
can’t have you like this. Let me prescribe for you.” 

“ How is he doing?” She pointed to the inner room. 

“As w r ell as we could ask. Banks is with him, and will remain as 
long as he is needed. Do you come with me.” 

I led the way to the open air, and she followed with the docility 
of a child. 


494 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


XV. 

The evening breeze had died out, and the night was still and star- 
lit, with a soft coolness unspeakably refreshing after the close air of 
the office. 

“You must make me a promise,” I said to the girl. “For the 
next two hours you must be entirely under my orders. Will you 
promise ?” 

“ Yes,” she answered, mechanically. 

“ Then, first of all, get a hat and wrap, and rejoin me here as 
quickly as you can.” 

Without question she obeyed, returning to find me equipped with 
pipe and tobacco-pouch and awaiting her. We passed through the 
gate, and turned into the road leading to the village. 

“ With your permission I’ll light this pipe,” I observed. 

She nodded absently, though I doubt if she understood a word I 
had said. 

“Tobacco,” I resumed, after a pause, in the course of which a 
pleasant glow had been created in the bowl of the pipe, “ is a wonder- 
ful agent of comfort. It surprises me sometimes that only one sex 
hereabouts enjoys its blessings. Both of us have seen or heard of 
countries where the ladies blow clouds with all the grace imaginable. 
Why not introduce the fashion here?” 

She looked up at the question, but made no reply. 

“ There was a preceptor of mine,” I went on, “ who made a study 
of the effects of nicotine, and who wrote some very able pamphlets on 
the subject. Among other things, he proved, to his own satisfaction, 
that even the moderate use of tobacco impaired memory, injured the 
vision, and caused various other ills. He got to be an extremist at 
last, putting the weed under a sweeping ban. But all through his life 
no factory chimney smoked more industriously than he. Finally 
some of his associates cornered him, and demanded why he didn’t follow 
his own advice. 

“‘I’d be stultifying myself if I did/ said he, coolly. 

“ ‘ How ?’ asked the inquisitors in chorus. 

“ ‘ Isn’t it the first duty of a man to obey his physician?’ 

“ ‘ Certainly,’ they admitted. ‘ But you won’t let your patients 
smoke.’ 

“ ‘ Of course I won’t,’ said he. ‘ It isn’t good for ’em. But Jimmy 
Bangs is my doctor; at least he’s called in when anybody’s sick at my 
house.’ 

“ 1 Well ?’ said they. 

“ 1 So he’s my family physician, you see,’ quoth the specialist; f and 
he doesn’t believe that tobacco ever hurt anybody.’ 

“ Come,” I persisted, after waiting in vain for her to speak. 
“ What do you think of my old preceptor?” 

“ I hardly understood the story,” she answered, with an effort. 

“Well, it’s a true tale,” said I, “and therefore I’ll repeat it.” 

This time she heard it all. 

“ Do doctors often reason so logically ?” she asked. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


495 


“ Sometimes they do. Did you know that many specialists die of 
the diseases they’ve studied most carefully ? ‘ Physician, heal thyself/ 

— that’s advice they find it difficult to follow.” 

Again she fell silent. 

“ For a summer night, this is a good one for star-gazing,” I ven- 
tured. “ Do you keep up your astronomy ?” 

“ I’m afraid not.” 

“ One really should ; it’s worth the while,” said I ; but she let the 
topic drop. 

“ By the way, Miss Gray, do you think that, in any circumstances, 
black may appear white?” I asked. 

She turned to me with a quick, impatient movement. 

“ Why do you ask such questions ?” she demanded. “ How can 

you speak of trifles, after that — that ” Her voice gave way, and I 

thought I heard a sob. 

“ Listen,” said I, earnestly. “In ‘that’ lies the reason for my 
rambling talk. I hadn’t intended to tell you so, but it’s the fact. 
Now you may as well hear it all. When you finished your ride you 
were worn out. Apparently you hadn’t been run away with, but 
evidently the horse had kept you at work. Then came the call for 
you to help us. It braced you up, of course, but the strain, coming 
after the first one, left you a bundle of exposed nerves, so to speak. 
It wouldn’t do to let you go to your room in such a state. Why, 
you would have had a night of horrors, lying awake for hours, 
tossing, turning, trying to shake off the nervousness which held you 
prisoner. If you fell into a doze it would be to wake as suddenly as 
if under a shock of electricity, to wake to find your muscles rigid and 
your heart pounding like a hammer. And even when physical weari- 
ness overcame you at last, your sleep would be broken by dreams a 
dozen times more terrible than the experiences you’ve gone through. 
I know what you are thinking, and I tell you your thoughts must be 
turned into another channel. It’s to try to turn them that I’ve brought 
you out here, that I’ve gabbled about nothings.” 

“ I understand,” she said, softly. “ I understand, and I thank you 
from the bottom of my heart. If I spoke irritably, won’t you pardon 
me ? I’m sorry, so sorry, now that I understand.” 

“ There’s nothing to pardon, unless it is the brusqueness with which 
I’ve blurted out my reasons for getting you away from the house.” 

“ You were not brusque,” she said, and we walked on in silence. I 
could guess how she was striving to dismiss the scenes of the evening 
from her mind. At last she spoke of her aunt, expressing regret that 
she had left the invalid to seek her couch unassisted. 

“Don’t worry,” said I. “Mrs. Clark will be only too happy to 
take your place to-night. Besides, it is probably just as well that Mrs. 
Loring should not have an immediate opportunity to overwhelm you 
with questions. That would be bad for both of you. I can’t have you 
sacrificed, even on her altar.” 

“‘Sacrificed’?” she cried. “Dr. Morris, you don’t realize what 
my aunt is to me. She is the best, the kindest woman I have ever 
known. She has treated me as her daughter, — has loved me more than 


496 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


many a daughter is loved. A sacrifice ! There is nothing I would not 
gladly do for her.” 

“ I believe you. And my belief is one of the strongest reasons for 
advising you not to see her to-night. Please remember the promise 
you gave me.” 

She halted for an instant, as if in protest that the pledge had been 
exacted when she did not fully understand its meaning, but she did not 
offer to turn back. As we strolled on, I gradually drew her into talk, 
and after a little she seemed to have freed herself from the spell which 
had been upon her. At the outskirts of the village we turned to the 
right, and, avoiding the main streets, walked slowly toward the bank 
of the inlet, up which small coasters occasionally sailed from the bay. 
From one of the old wooden piers we could make out the shape of a 
yawl gliding seaward on the ebbing tide. The voices of two men on 
board the boat came to our ears over the black water, in which glistened 
the pin-point reflections of the stars. 

“ I envy those men drifting along so easily,” said the girl. “ The 
water always has a fascination for me. Perhaps I would risk even the 
darkness if we could change places with them.” 

“ No doubt we could get another boat,” I suggested. 

“ I fear it is too late,” she answered, with a faint laugh, the first I 
had heard from her since I watched her start on the ride to Bas- 
settville. 

“ Confound the clock !” I cried. “ It is responsible for half our 
disappointments.” 

“ Nevertheless, we should get on very poorly without it.” 

“ All prejudice, and inherited prejudice at that.” 

u Did you ever try to do without one ?” 

“ More than try, — I’ve had to,” said I, with vivid recollection of 
occasions on which my timepieces, for sufficient reasons, had been 
committed to another’s keeping. 

“ And were you any happier ?” 

“At the time? No. But circumstances prevented my giving the 
possibilities of clockless bliss a fair trial. Hunger, you may have 
heard, bars the way to minor enjoyments.” 

“ But at least such troubles are all behind you,” she said. “ I 
have often thought that a man should be better and stronger for being 
able to look back upon privations endured and obstacles surmounted.” 

“ That is good doctrine,” said I ; “ but practically — well, I 
shouldn’t care to double my advantages of experience.” 

“ Let us trust there will be no need for you to do so,” she said. 
“ But it is really getting late. Shall we not turn back ?” 

“ Miss Gray,” said I, breaking one of the pauses in our talk as we 
walked from the village, “ if you are so fond of the water, and if your 
aunt doesn’t object, why shouldn’t you have a boat? It could be kept 
in one of the creeks near the house.” 

“ Capital !” she cried. “ How odd that we shouldn’t have thought 
of it before ! I should be delighted.” 

“ And your aunt ?” 

“ She will enjoy it as much as I.” 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


497 


“ Then you shall have a boat at once,” I promised. “ Fll arrange 
for one to-morrow. A man named Johnson has just the little craft 
to please you, I believe, and Til have it brought around for inspec- 
tion.” 

“ You are very good,” said she; “but Til not attempt to thank you 
in advance.” 

“ Don’t try. If you are satisfied with the boat, I shall be more 
than repaid for any little trouble in getting it.” 


XVI. 

Early the following morning, after satisfying myself that Jones 
was getting on as well as we had any ground to hope he would, and 
that he would be carefully looked after by the nurses who had volun- 
teered for the service, I set out for the house on the knoll. It was 
my plan to seek Johnson after my regular call upon Lamar, but, fate 
being auspicious, I was saved the trouble, for the fisherman was at 
work about his employer’s premises. He was very willing to let the 
boat, which, he said, was well adapted for a woman’s use, being light 
and handy, easily rowed, and equipped with a small triangular sail, 
available in light winds and on smooth water. He would bring it 
that afternoon to the head of one of the inlets. 

“ You’re on shore most of the time, aren’t you ?” I asked, when 
this arrangement had been made. 

“ Ay, ay, sir,” he answered. 

“Tired of salt water?” 

“ No, sir ; but a bed that don’t pitch and roll is comfortable enough 
for me, when I’ve a chance to lie in it.” 

“ What are you doing these days ?” 

“ I’m none too idle,” he answered, with a quick glance at me. 

“Find him sociable?” I nodded toward the house. 

He seemed to be about to speak, but after a look about him he 
changed his intention, and without a word turned again to the task 
which my coming had interrupted. Smiling at his caution, I climbed 
the slope to the door, and entered. Lamar, who was reading, laid 
down his book — it was his well-worn Cicero’s Letters — and bade me 
good-morning. He seemed to be rather more gracious in mood than 
usual. 

“Well,” said I, “that fellow Jones’s curiosity is not likely to cause 
you any annoyance for some time to come. We amputated his right 
leg last night.” 

“ I supposed it would be necessary,” he answered, composedly. 

“ What? ‘ Supposed it would be necessary’? What did you know 
of it?” 

“I judged his hurt most serious.” 

“ How did you hear of it ?” 

“ I saw it.” 

“You saw him run over?” 

Vol. LVI.— 32 


498 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


“ Yes.” 

“ You knew that he was lying there helpless for hours ?” 

“ It is true.” 

“And you did not attempt to relieve him, to go to his assist- 
ance ?” 

“ The inference is correct.” 

His tone was as unconcerned as ever, his speech as deliberate as 
if he were discussing the most trivial of matters. In spite of my 
acquaintance with him, I was thunderstruck by this fresh evidence of 
his callousness. He enjoyed my surprise, I think, as a singer may 
enjoy the applause of a long hostile critic. It was a tribute of the 
sort he understood and appreciated. As coolly as if he had been giving 
directions for a day’s errand-going in Trent, he told the story of the 
accident. Jones, he said, on his way home from the beach tried a 
short cut which ran near the knoll. Leaving his team in the little 
hollow where Dorothy Gray afterward found him, he cautiously 
approached the hummock and climbed to its summit. Turning a 
corner of the house, he came face to face with Lamar. What talk 
passed between the two I never learned, but the intruder departed in 
such haste that his foot slipped on the slope, and he fell. From the 
way he limped on arising, Lamar believed that his ankle was sprained, 
but he contrived at last to reach his horses. He had picked up the 
lines, and was preparing to climb to the wagon-seat, when his injured 
ankle gave way, and again he fell. At the same moment the horses 
started. The fore wheel of the loaded vehicle passed over his leg, and 
before he could get it out of the way — if, indeed, power to move it 
remained — the hind wheel had completed the work the other had 
begun. Lamar from an upper window of the house watched what 
was happening, and, so far as I could determine from his account of it, 
spent most of his time until the girl appeared gloating over the sight 
of the helpless man stretched out on the ground at the bottom of the 
depression. When Dorothy hurried to his house for assistance, he sat 
within, listening unmoved to her knocks upon his door and her cries 
for help. Moreover, he prevented old Martha from responding to the 
summons, when sounds of it penetrated even her dulled hearing. 
These things he related as calmly as if they had occurred at the other 
end of the earth, as shamelessly as if there were no sense of pity in 
him. What my opinion of his conduct might be apparently concerned 
him not in the least. He sat there telling the tale of his heartless- 
ness, with the cold, dispassionate directness of the man who is his own 
judge, and who holds himself blameless and beyond the need of excuse 
or apology. 

u He will survive, you say?” he asked, in the same level tone of 
indifference he had maintained throughout. 

“ We hope that he will,” I answered, striving to keep all trace of 
feeling out of my voice. 

“ The odds?” 

“ Last night they were against him ; to-day they are in his favor.” 

“Ah! He rallies?” 

“ He has the best of constitutions. In that lies his hope. I may 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


499 


as well tell you that in his incoherent talk last night I made out the 
word ‘ mistaken/ It was repeated several times. Did it have any 
bearing on his visit here ?” 

Lamar’s face bore the grim smile which, rare as it was, was the 
limit of his demonstrations of emotion. 

“ It had a bearing,” he said. “ The man regarded me as a suspect. 
He thought me a criminal of this country, in hiding. When we met, 
he perceived his mistake. That is all.” 

“ And you have no fears that he may cause you trouble?” 

“ None,” he answered. And he picked up his book, to warn me 
that our discussion had reached its close. 

I left him as gladly as one leaves a room the air of which is heavy 
with poisonous vapors. I was oppressed by him, by his cruelty, by his 
utter disregard of the sufferings of another. Often had I been on the 
verge of hatred for him ; now I realized that the line had been crossed, 
that the feeling that I was bound to obey his nod, to come and go at 
his command, would be more odious than ever. Why had I not the 
courage to denounce him to his face and to quit his service then and 
there? Why had I listened cowed and unprotesting? Why, even 
now, did I not turn back to ease my conscience like an honest man and 
to cast off the yoke which galled me ? In my own heart the answer 
was only too clear. By degrees Lamar had gained an ascendency over 
me, until now, even as I cursed him, I recoiled at the very thought 
of bearding him, of daring to pit myself against his relentless will. 
Moreover, I realized that within the last few months a fresh reason for 
caution had sprung into existence. They say love makes men brave : 
I know it sometimes makes them cowards. 

When I approached the farm-house, still bitterly considering the 
difficulties which seemed to hedge me about, Mrs. Weston appeared in 
the door-way. 

“I’ve got a message for you,” she called out. “Your bird’s 
flown.” 

“ What? Not Jones? He can’t be moved,” I cried. 

“No, he’s here fast enough. Dr. Banks has called, and says he’s 
doin’ well ; no more fever than to be looked for. But he’s got some- 
thing to do with my news.” 

“ What in the world is it, then ?” 

“ Mis’ Loring has gone chasin’ off to Trent, takin’ Miss Gray with 
her for luck.” 

“Gone to Trent?” I repeated. “How is that?” 

“ Well, she got up this mornin’, an’ dropped in to see Jones. 
Somebody told her that his pillows was kinder hot for him. Then 
there was nothin’ but she must go to Trent right off and buy him one 
of them kind that’s got only air in ’em. An’ so, off she goes, an’ 
Miss Gray goes too. They’ll be home in time for supper. Johnny 
druv ’em over to Bassettville in the carryall, and he’ll wait to bring 
’em home.” 

“ Oh, the outing will do Mrs. Loring no harm,” said I, moving 
toward the office. 

“ But that ain’t the message,” said Mrs. Weston. “ That’s saved 


500 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


for the last, like a Thanksgivin , mince-pie. It’s from Miss Gray, and 
it’s about a boat.” 

“ Yes. She was to look at one this afternoon.” 

“Well, bein’ as she’s in Trent, she can’t keep the appointment. So 
she asked me to tell you to hire the boat anyhow ; if it suited you, 
it’d suit her.” 

Thus it happened that when Johnson navigated his craft to the 
head of the inlet I was prepared to bind the bargain with him. 

“It may be,” I told him, “that the ladies would feel safer if they 
had a man with them when they ventured out on the bay. In that 
case, could you help them out ?” 

“ I guess I could,” said he, after a moment’s reflection. “ Most 
generally I’m off watch the best part of the day.” 

“ Off watch” set me to thinking, though I very well knew to what 
he referred. 

“ By the way, Johnson,” said I, with an effort at carelessness, “ I 
understand you look out for Mr. Lamar’s mail.” 

“ Well, you might say so,” he answered, cautiously. 

“ I imagine his correspondence is light,” said I, following up the 
advantage scored by the chance shot. 

He nodded assent. 

“ Writes to New York, as a rule,” I suggested. 

“ That’s about it.” 

“ But his answers are slow in coming.” 

“Two months, sometimes,” said Johnson. “Look here, Doc,” he 
added, quickly, “ I know you’re thick with him, or I wouldn’t have 
said that much. It don’t go no further, do it?” 

“ I give you my word on that,” said I, adding, rather disingenu- 
ously, “ I wouldn’t have asked you anything you were not free to tell 
me.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he said, with a look of relief on his 
honest face. “ Gab’s a poor trade, — leastways, for a man.” 

“ Bight you are,” said I, and with this bit of wisdom we dropped 
the subject. However, I had learned enough for a basis for a little 
calculation. Lamar was communicating with friends at home, through 
the kindly offices of somebody in New York. His correspondents 
forwarded their replies through the same channel of the New-Yorker 
and the fisherman. No doubt they sent him information bearing on 
the energy with which his enemies were pursuing him. Very possibly 
they had means of their own for getting an inkling of their adver- 
saries’ doings. It could be set down as certain that they furnished the 
money which Lamar spent, on occasion, with a liberal hand. After 
all, though, this theorizing was groping in the dark. It furnished no 
clue to the man’s mystery; it assuredly gave me no cause to hate him 
the less or to trust in the stability of my tenure of office in his service. 
I merely had proof now, as I had suspected, that he did not depend 
entirely upon me in any of his dealings with the rest of the world. 
He evidently believed in checks and safeguards ; and through Johnson 
he had secured a check upon me. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


501 


XVII. 

Mrs. Loring returned from Trent in the best of spirits. The day’s 
jaunt had done her good. I have no doubt that it served to satisfy 
for a time the craving for gadding about which possessed her now and 
then, for all her repeated praises of a quiet home life. Moreover, she 
brought with her a friend, whose’ presence could hardly but add to her 
peace of rpind ; for she dearly loved to play the hostess, the more, 
perhaps, because her opportunities for assuming the role had been so 
limited. As it happened, I had only a glimpse of this visitor. Dr. 
Banks had sent me an urgent message to hasten to one of his patients, 
and I was driving briskly toward the sick man’s residence when I met 
the carryall, homeward bound from Bassettville. Mrs. Loring and 
her niece were stowed away under a multitude of bundles in the stern 
of the old ark on wheels, while the forecastle was shared by the youth- 
ful John and a stranger, of whom I could make out little, except that 
he was a dark, bearded man, clad in fashionable raiment. At the time, 
I supposed him to be some stray traveller bound for the village and 
profiting by the happy accident of the carryall voyaging in that direc- 
tion. 

The evening was far advanced when I returned to Mrs. Weston’s, 
and, although that lady enlightened me as to the arrival of Mrs. 
Loring and her guest, I was quite willing to avoid intruding upon 
them. Mrs. Weston could tell very little about the new-comer. She 
thought that he was a foreigner, with one of those outlandish names 
that nobody but an alien could understand. It w r as easy to conjecture 
that Mrs. Loring had chanced to meet him in Trent, and had insisted 
upon bringing him to Rodneytown, to talk over old times and to gossip 
about people they had known in the Lord knew what distant land. 
In the morning, no doubt, an opportunity would be given me to pay 
my respects. 

But the morning brought no opportunity of the sort. When I 
called upon Mrs. Loring she was alone, and her guest — Colonel Men- 
doza she called him — was out for a ramble about the neighborhood. 
He had expressed a desire to visit the beach, she explained, and, in- 
asmuch as he had taken Johnson’s boat, was probably cruising about 
the bay or some of the many channels branching off from it. She ex- 
pected him to return in an hour or two, and she was anxious, so very 
anxious, that I should meet him. Couldn’t I arrange to dine with 
them ? Really it was distressing that another visit to Banks’s patient 
would prevent an acceptance of the invitation. The colonel was such 
a charming gentleman, so very, very charming, so courteous, so erudite, 
so widely travelled, and so on through the list of applicable adjectives. 
However, that afternoon or evening, or at supper, — yes, that would be 
a capital time, — the meeting could be brought about. Of course I 
acquiesced, and then, as Miss Gray was not in sight, parted with her 
aunt rather abruptly. After a quarter of an hour with Jones, whose 
case showed no unfavorable symptoms, came the call upon Lamar. 
Contrary to his custom, he was pottering about his domain that morning, 
lured from the house, perhaps, by the beauty of the day, which, how- 


502 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


ever, was not potent enough to change his manner, for he gave me 
his stereotyped greeting, and our talk was as brief and formal as 
usual. He asked no questions as to the progress the injured man was 
making, and I volunteered no information on the subject. Then, in 
turn, came the ride on Banks’s business. I returned from it early in 
the afternoon, and after a hasty meal — I challenge any man to linger 
unnecessarily over a country dinner gone cold for a couple of hours — 
I spied Miss Gray on the porch of Mrs. Clark’s residence, and strolled 
in her direction. 

“ I’ve come to make a call,” said I, taking a seat beside her. 

“ How flattering to us !” she answered, with a smile. “ I’ll bear 
the news to my aunt at once.” 

“ Oh, there’s no hurry. Let me catch my breath. I’m here to see 
your visitor this time.” 

“But don’t you know that he has gone?” she asked. 

“ No. I supposed him good for two or three days at least. Cer- 
tainly Mrs. Loring didn’t expect him to bid good-by so speedily. He 
must be a genuine bird of passage.” 

“ He surprised us. Really, we saw very little of him ; for he 
started out early this morning and didn’t return until nearly noon. 
And then he was off to Trent without waiting for dinner. He explained 
that he had recollected an important engagement, which must have 
escaped his memory when, carried away by the pleasure of meeting my 
aunt, he accepted her invitation.” 

“ That’s odd,” said I, idly, a good deal relieved, on the whole, to 
find that I need not meet the stranger, who, no matter how agreeable 
he might have been, would have lessened my chances for a chat with 
Dorothy. “ Come, let us solace ourselves for his flight by a cruise in 
your boat. You’ll be comfortable in the shade of a parasol.” 

She readily agreed to the plan, and in ten minutes we were standing 
on the bank above the skiff*, looking down at it with a pretence at 
critical inspection. 

“ It is surprising that Johnson delivered the boat with so much 
mud on the seats,” said I. “ Let me brush it off before you try to 
embark. I’m amazed at his carelessness.” 

“ Perhaps the fault is Colonel Mendoza’s,” she observed. “ He 
used the boat this morning, you know.” 

“ Most of the muss is out of the way now,” said I, assisting her 
into the stern sheets and settling myself at the oars, “ but I’ll speak to 
Johnson about it, anyway. One expects more neatness in an old man- 
of-war’s-man.” 

“ The colonel is far more likely to be the guilty person,” she ob- 
jected, as I bent to the oars and the boat gathered headway. 

“ Who is he ? Is he a mystery or a plain every-day body ? Tell 
me about him.” 

“We met him in Nice, and afterward in Paris. He was very 
courteous, and aunt and he became very good friends. He never told 
us much about himself, but it was by his advice that we made the trip 
to Rio, and through letters he gave us our stay was made delightful, 
although the climate failed to help my aunt.” 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


503 


“ He was not with you in Brazil ?” 

“ No. His home was there, and we heard a good deal of his plan- 
tations, but he spent most of his time in Europe. We met him after- 
ward at Baden, but failed to see much of him, for business of some 
sort called him away a few days later.” 

It was difficult to imagine that the gentleman in question, in his 
intimacy with my friends, had been entirely actuated by regard for an 
elderly person half mad about her health. I felt something akin 
to a pang of jealousy, though I tried to conceal my interest as I 
asked, — 

“ Trent was a curious place to~run across such an admirer of trans- 
Atlantic civilization, was it not?” 

“ Our meeting was purely accidental. We were lunching in the 
restaurant of one of the hotels when he came in and took the table 
next to ours. We hardly recognized him at first; he had aged much 
since we saw him last. We were delighted at the meeting, and I think 
it pleased him as well. He told us that he had been travelling ex- 
tensively in this country, but evidently he had not enjoyed the life here. 
In fact, aunt and he fell into a discussion of the manners and customs 
of the good people of the United States. You should have heard her: 
she is patriotic to the core. She told him that he had had no oppor- 
tunity to learn how the people really lived ; and then she insisted that 
he should come here, for a few days at least, to get just the experience 
in which he was lacking. He accepted the invitation, after a little 
hesitation. Honestly, I think he was glad to escape the hotels for a 
while. Last evening he and aunt talked for hours about their travels, 
about this place and its people. She told him how she was gaining 
under your care, and how fortunate she was in securing such skilful 
attendance in the country. Perhaps it is as well that you didn’t hear 
her. Flattery is disastrous sometimes, isn’t it?” 

“ You should know better than I.” 

She laughed lightly. 

“Nothing but good was said of you,” she went on. “Aunt dwelt 
upon your success with her, and your regular attendance upon the old 
man who lives over there.” She pointed to the knoll, with which we 
were almost abreast, being distant from it hardly a hundred yards. 
“She told him what a hermit existence Mr. — Mr. Lamar — that is 
the name, isn’t it? — seems to prefer.” 

“Was he interested?” 

“ Shall I tell you the plain truth ? It may spoil the story.” 

“ The truth always,” said I. 

“ At first he was interested, but very soon he delicately managed 
to change the subject.” 

“ I don’t blame him,” I muttered, with a glance at the house showing 
above the scrubby trees. Her glance followed mine. 

“Dr. Morris,” she asked, after a pause, “is that Mr. Lamar deaf? 
When I tried to rouse somebody in his house the other day, the place 
was as unresponsive as a tomb.” 

“ The comparison is excellent,” said I, avoiding a direct answer to 
her query, as most men with an aversion to unnecessary falsehoods 


504 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


would have avoided it. “ The servant is deaf, and her master is some- 
times so self-absorbed that he is even worse off than she.” 

“ What a wretched existence ! Is his health altogether gone?” 

“He is more comfortable now than when he came here.” 

I knew that she was studying my face, but I kept my eyes 
averted. 

“ It is strange that in this gossip-loving village so little is known 
of him,” she went on. “ One hears that he is a retired brewer from 
the South ; but that seems to be the limit of knowledge of his ante- 
cedents.” 

“ It is the accepted version,” said I. “ Really, I know little of 
his history before he retained me.” 

Our craft was nearing the mouth of the tidal stream, and a few 
more vigorous strokes shot it out upon the smooth waters of the bay, 
hardly rippled by the gentle breeze. To the north were two sloops 
crawling along on their way to the village. To the south and east 
curved the long tongue of land which formed the boundary of the bay 
on two sides and sheltered it from the ocean swell. Not more than 
half a mile from where we were, a catboat lay at anchor, with a solitary 
figure lolling over her side. The whole scene was full of the restful- 
ness of the summer afternoon, and the spell of it stole upon us, as if 
we left behind with the land its anxieties, sorrows, and fears. For a 
time the boat drifted on, propelled more by a current of the bay than 
by the occasional strokes of the oar. The girl was half reclining, 
trailing one of her hands in the water and with the other toying with 
the handle of her parasol, the shaft of which rested on her shoulder. 
We were both day-dreaming, when a hail came to rouse us from our 
reveries. Looking up, I found that we were close to the anchored 
craft, and that Johnson, its occupant, had given us warning none too 
soon. In a moment we were alongside the catboat, and his hand had 
caught the gunwale of the skiff. 

“ Halloo, Johnson!” said I: “ what sort of fishing are you doing 
here ? Business or fun ?” 

“Fun mostly, sir,”' he answered, pointing to a hand-line hanging 
over the side. “ Nothing of a bigness to be caught here. How does 
the lady like the boat?” 

“Very much indeed,” said Miss Gray. 

“ You’ll find she works easy, ma’am,” said he. 

“We discovered a lot of dried mud on the thwarts,” said I. “ You 
can see some of it yet.” 

“The boat was as clean as a 'whistle yesterday. Somebody must 
have been out in her ’tween then and now.” 

“ I believe she was in use this morning,” I admitted. 

“ Well, whoever it was,” Johnson declared, after a survey of the 
skiff, “ he must have landed somewhere on the flats, where there was 
mud, and tracked it in when he came aboard ag’in. Here’s another of 
his marks.” And he sent a long arm into the bow of our little vessel 
and picked up the stump of a cigarette from the planking. As he held 
it out for our inspection, the paper unrolled, showing the dark grains of 
the tobacco. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


505 


“ Fve seen that sorter cigarette before, Doc, and I guess you have, 
too, but not round these parts,” he said. “ Dagoes fancy ’em.” 

“And you don’t, eh? Well, I’m of your way of thinking, but 
the gentleman who was out in the boat this morning wasn’t. Come 
up to the house to-morrow, will you, and give Miss Gray a sailing- 
lesson ?” 

“Ay, ay, sir,” said Johnson. “The boat’s very clever under 
sail. I’ll be glad to show her any little p’ints she needs to pick up.” 

“ Your colonel can’t be called a very tidy mariner, no matter what 
his other virtues may be,” said I, as we re-entered the inlet. 

“ Why do you call him my colonel?” the girl asked, and it seemed 
to me that I detected a slight increase in her color. “ He is a friend 
of my aunt’s, hardly of mine, though I’ve always found him very 
agreeable.” 

“And attentive?” I hazarded, under the spur of revived jealousy. 

“ Scarcely that,” she said, quietly, “ though he was always most kind 
to me.” 

The spur went deeper. 

“Oh, of course,” said I, rashly; “and he must have had such 
delightful opportunities.” 

“ He is a charming man,” she answered, with a smile which filled 
me with misery. I dare say she read me easily, and was quite prepared 
to prolong the teasing had the chance been given her. But, looking 
over my shoulder, my glance fell upon Lamar’s sombre abode. The 
sight of it made me silent, and, sullenly settling down to the oars, I 
sent the light craft swiftly on toward its mooring-place. 


XVIII. 

It is possible that men exist who, in the period succeeding the dis- 
covery that they have undergone the mental metamorphosis commonly 
styled falling in love, and preceding the critical moment when the 
object of adoration confesses her sentiments of reciprocity or declares 
the wooing to have been in vain, maintain their clearness of under- 
standing, their evenness of temper, and their soundness of judgment. 
It is conceivable, I admit, that such men live ; but it has never been my 
lot to enjoy the privilege of acquaintance with one of them. I do not 
mean that when love flies in at the window common sense rushes out 
at the door; but I do hold that the new-comer is prone to exert, 
throughout that period of storm and stress, a semi-paralyzing influence 
over the old tenant, making him sadly untrustworthy at times when 
the demands upon him are greatest. Therefore I regard myself as no 
exception to the general rule — general, that is, so far as my observa- 
tion goes — in having followed irrational courses and behaved errati- 
cally during three weeks or more of dissatisfaction, uncertainty, aud 
doubt. For one of them I made myself miserable through jealousy 
of the man Dorothy’s aunt had been pleased to make her guest. 
Without a shadow of proof to support the fabric of speculation I 
laboriously built up, I contrived to persuade myself that he was a 


506 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


rival, favored, of course, for his wealth and position. Even from his 
hasty departure I gained little comfort. The bugaboo, once installed, 
was not to be overthrown by such a trifle. Full of gloomy fore- 
bodings, I waited for news that he would return, plotting, in my more 
cheerful intervals, wild schemes for turning his triumphant reappear- 
ance into a by-word and a mockery. Once I caught myself reading 
with vast approval summaries of famous cases in a text-book on toxi- 
cology. The volume had been picked up hap-hazard, but its terse 
account of several noted matters caught my fancy, and I read on until 
some noise about the house, interrupting my recreation, brought me to 
a realization of the ridiculousness of the performance, — for there were 
still moments when I could understand that I was playing the fool. 
Perhaps, also, the plea might be entered that at this time I was a victim 
of a recurrence of my old perplexities, recent events having served again 
to force them upon me with even greater vividness than before. 

The jealous fit was ended by a letter which the late visitor sent from 
New York to Mrs. Loring. In it he expressed deep regret that cir- 
cumstances would prevent him from completing his visit. Business, 
he explained, called him abroad, and before the missive reached her he 
would be well on his way to Liverpool. I heard the news with a decent 
effort at an appearance of regret, and from that moment had a more 
friendly impression regarding the gallant colonel. 

It had been my intention to speak of him to Lamar, rather because 
of his Brazilian interests, of which my client might know something, 
than because of his morning cruise about the channels of the marsh 
or the abrupt termination of his stay. Mrs. Loring’s account of the 
colonel’s manner of life indicated that he was a chronic tourist, with 
no very active concern in happenings in his own country, so long as 
they did not interfere with his sources of revenue. One thing after 
another, however, occurred to prevent a mention of him. One day 
Lamar was busy with his experiments ; the next, for some reason of 
his own, he cut short our talk ; the next he was back in his laboratory. 
Thus, before an opportunity was offered to tell my bit of news, its 
value appeared to have been lost through staleness, and, in the end, 
fresher topics took its place when Lamar showed a willingness to 
indulge in a brief gossip. So it happened that he heard nothing of 
the incident which had caused me so many hours of unnecessary 
perturbation. 

Jones, meanwhile, had been making steady progress, and, while 
Banks and I saw him daily, there was little need of our attendance. 
We learned that he would leave the neighborhood as soon as his 
removal could be attempted with safety, but he told us nothing further 
of his plans. I tried occasionally to lead him to speak of his reasons 
for coming to Rodneytown, but he was reticent, and I had to be content 
with the explanation given by Lamar. Dorothy Gray came often to 
read to him, and he manifested much gratitude for her kindness; but 
even to her he would say next to nothing of his history or his projects. 

Banks’s wrist was still weak, but his recovery from the sprain had 
gone far enough to enable him to circulate in his old fashion among his 
patients, and my duties as his coadjutor were ended. He was begin- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT 


507 


ning, though, to renew his discourses about his desire to secure a part- 
ner and practically to retire, and it was clear that he would soon make 
me a direct offer. It was only fair that I should prepare to give a 
definite answer, but I realized that my plans were even more unsettled 
than ever. There was a new disturbing element in the situation. 
Could I but foretell what Dorothy would answer were a certain ques- 
tion put to her, then Dr. Banks might be answered, in turn, so soon 
as he chose to speak. But what would the young lady say ? 

Yes, what would she say? Truly I was far from sanguine. I 
could find no reason for confidence, in spite of many soulful efforts to 
discover one. We were the best of friends; we were together daily, 
sometimes for hours at a time; we read together, walked together, and 
drove together. We had interests in common ; in some lines of 
thought our beliefs were akin. Such things were well enough in their 
way, but what ground for hope did they furnish ? Would not a blush, 
a sigh, have far more meaning? Frequently I had read dissertations 
on the symptoms of the love-malady, but surely nowhere had I noted 
good-fellowship set forth as a distinguishing mark of passion. Then, 
too, there was the difficulty of the bread-and-butter problem. What 
business had I to contemplate matrimony, with no well-defined idea 
how even one mouth was to be filled, in the event of a break with the 
man who would remain my paymaster no longer than suited his con- 
venience ? My savings would cut but a poor figure as a war-chest for 
a family campaign. Besides, the girl was supposedly well-to-do, and 
certainly was the heiress of her aunt, whose wealth appeared to be suffi- 
cient to enable her to travel wherever she desired, and to pay the bills 
of high-priced specialists, who charged with an appreciation of the 
fact that their patients would need to take nothing with them out of 
this world. It would not be pleasing to be classed as a fortune- 
hunter. All the philosophy available would not remove the sting from 
that reproach. 

Meditating these things, I fell into habits entirely reprehensible 
from the stand-point of every-day sanity. I sat up late o’ nights, I 
smoked more strong tobacco than was for my good, I took to moping 
and violent language. On the whole, it was fortunate that my practice 
was limited, — fortunate both for me and for my supposititious patients. 
Whether anybody guessed the character of my thoughts, or fathomed 
my moods, was a matter almost of indifference. I told myself that 
the mask should always be worn in the presence of Mrs. Loring and 
her niece ; as for the others, their opinion did not count. As a matter 
of fact, I imagine that my secret was known to all the women there- 
abouts, and perhaps to some of the men. Banks now and then cracked 
jokes at my expense of a character which gave ground to believe that 
he had made a shrewd diagnosis of my malady. But, when all is said 
and done, the simple truth is that I was as nearly at my wits’ end, 
even with the ghost of the colonel’s rivalry exorcised, as probably half 
the adult males of the nation would own themselves to have been on 
various occasions, would they but make confession. 

Mrs. Loring was unquestionably the better for her life in the 
country. She still kept herself under the discipline of an invalid, 


508 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


though the precaution was entirely unnecessary. Her appetite was 
excellent, her nerves were almost forgotten, the daily record of her 
symptoms was limited to an entry of a few lines, in place of the pages 
she had covered at first. She often failed to remember that I was her 
physician, and suffered me to depart without hearing a word bearing 
on her long-cherished aches and agonies. She had become acquainted 
with everybody in the village ; nobody knew better than she the true 
inwardness of every piece of mild scandal retailed from one end of it 
to the other. She was hand in glove with the ringleaders in its social 
diversions, and was the moving spirit in an enterprise which promised 
to eclipse anything of the sort ever attempted in Rodneytown. This 
was no less than a “ F6te Internationale,” as the programmes had it, 
in which youths and maidens of many lands were to be personated by 
the young people of the village. There were to be tableaux, recita- 
tions, music, and dancing, and altogether a somewhat ambitious list of 
divertisements. Mrs. Loring had assumed the responsibility of design- 
ing the costumes, a duty which she was well fitted to perform, for 
she was blessed with a keen eye for color effects, and her travels had 
made her a trustworthy source of information regarding the details of 
the pictures it was proposed to present. There was no suggestion of 
invalidism in her as she bustled about on her congenial tasks ; the 
busier she was, the greater her content. The ftte was to her a mental 
and physical tonic, more beneficial than any possible combination of 
chemicals. This I realized, but, with the perverse pessimism brought 
about by my season of unrest, I feared that it would result in opening 
her eyes to the truth that she needed no physician. And when that 
discovery was made, how long would she and her niece tarry in that 
quiet neighborhood ? 

The weather about this time took a turn for the worse ; for forty- 
eight hours a dense fog hung over the coast. It thinned somewhat by 
the third morning. The banks of mist were drifting seaward when I 
plodded across the plain to the house on the knoll. Lamar, who was 
awaiting me in the living-room, appeared to be giving himself up to 
idleness ; for there were no books on the table at which he sat, and he 
seemed to be unusually willing to engage in desultory chat. After a 
little, he told me that he had been feeling far from well for some 
weeks, and that the depressing weather had aggravated his trouble. 

To a stranger he would have looked a sick man, but perhaps asso- 
ciation had blunted my perceptions in his case, and his words surprised 
me. Assuredly he was no weaker than on the night when he first came 
to me. If there had been any change, it had been an improvement. 
The old air of the fugitive had in great part disappeared, though he 
still gave one the impression of continual vigilance. 

He described his symptoms with his habitual deliberateness, closing 
the account with a statement that he believed his heart to be affected 
seriously, and that he desired me to examine him at once. 

“ I am afraid that you are correct in your diagnosis,” said I, when 
the task had been accomplished. “ There is cardiac trouble. It is far 
advanced.” 

“ Its character ?” 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


509 


“Valvular. I should like a consultation at once.” 

“Of what advantage?” he asked, as coolly as if he were not dis- 
cussing his own death-sentence. “ The disease is mortal. Treatment 
cannot cure it.” 

“But it may prolong life,” I urged. “Besides, it is only fairness 
to yourself to have an expert’s opinion. Take my advice ” 

“Pardon, but I must decline to do so. I am content with your 
skill unaided. It is a confirmation of my own suspicion. The end is 
not so much ; I have the warning, — it is all I desire.” 

He was silent for a little, this strange being, his expression un- 
changed, his self-control absolute. When at last he spoke, there was 
no hint of emotion in his voice as he asked the question I dreaded to 
hear. 

“ How long may I, in reason, count upon ?” 

“ I cannot tell you definitely,” I answered. “ It may be a year, 
two years, three years ; it may be to-morrow. A shock, a ” 

“ I comprehend. But, undisturbed, what time do the odds favor?” 

“ Six months. But it is no more than the wildest guess-work.” 

Again there was a pause. Presently he asked, — 

“You spoke of a shock. Would it be of necessity fatal?” 

“ No. But it would be the one chance in ten if it were not.” I 
knew my man well enough to understand that he desired no evasions. 

“ You speak from the book,” he said, quietly ; “ but in that I think 
you wrong. I rate the chance greater.” 

“ May you be in the right of it,” I said ; but he made no comment 
upon the hope thus expressed. Soon after, having given a few direc- 
tions for his care of himself, and having promised to have a prescrip- 
tion for him made up at once, I left him to his thoughts. What they 
were I could hardly imagine, but I hoped that among them was some 
shadow of remorse at the remembrance of the poor devil whom he had 
suffered to lie helpless for hours almost at his door. It was fate’s 
irony that of these two men the one who then was close to death 
should now be far on the road to health, with the prospect of many 
years before him, while the other, who had rejoiced in his misfortune, 
should find himself under a sentence which knew no chance of reprieve. 


XIX, 

After the dampness and fog came a week of almost tropical heat, 
under which the fields grew parched and dull-hued and the dust lay 
deep on the highways. The breeze, when it blew, was from the land, 
but much of the time there was a calm, even more oppressive than the 
heat-laden zephyrs. Against such conditions the energies of but one 
of us were proof. Mrs. Loring alone defied the heat and glare and 
dust, going on with her preparations for the fite with undiminished 
energy, amidst the wondering comments of the rest, to whom all un- 
necessary exertion had become a thing to be abhorred. 

“ Goodness gracious ! how she do keep goin’ so beats me,” Mrs. 


510 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


Weston confided to me one afternoon, when she had sought the com- 
parative coolness the office offered. 

“She seems to thrive on high temperatures,” said I. “She’s a 
human salamander.” 

“ Well, let that be as it may,” said Mrs. Weston, who was not to 
be entrapped into a definite statement on such a doubtful point, “she’s 
a marvel, I must say. ’Tain’t like, now, as if she had to work for a 
livin’. But that’s jes’ the way the world seems to go. Them that 
don’t need gets ; them that wants to rest has to keep stirrin’. If ’twas 
her niece was rushin’ round, ’twould be all natural, because she’s got 
her livin’ to get sooner ’r later. If I was in her place, I’d be plannin’ 
and savin’ like a good fellow.” 

“ Why should she?” I demanded. “Her aunt must be at least 
well-to-do, and she’s nearer to her than anybody else.” 

“Oh, come now, don’t you know about Mis’ Loring’s money?” 

“ No. Honestly, so far as I know, she is quite able to provide for 
her niece. What do you mean ?” 

Mrs. Weston’s face shone with the joy of telling a story new to 
her hearer. 

“ Oh, it come straight to me,” said she. “ Mis’ Loring told Mis’ 
Clark, and I got it right from her. Mis’ Loring’s husband left her 
jes’ a life interest in his estate, and when she dies it all goes back to 
his folks. She gets the interest every year, but she can’t touch the 
principal. So Miss Gray can’t get anything from her, though of 
course she pays her bills now.” 

“ Perhaps Miss Gray has an income of her own,” I suggested. 

“Mis’ Loring says not. Her pa was kinder shif’less, and didn’t 
leave her nothing. Mis’ Loring’s taken care of her ever since she was 
a little girl.” 

I sat deep in thought long after Mrs. Weston had gone back to her 
household duties. Did her news please me? So far as the girl was 
concerned, I was heartily sorry to learn that her prospects were so un- 
certain ; so far as the tidings affected me, I rejoiced. I was free to 
press my suit, to ask her hand, undeterred by the dread of a miscon- 
ception of my motives. At least one of the obstacles had been removed 
from my path. 

When meditation had become a weariness, — and when one is in 
love it requires a vast amount of brain-racking to produce this result, 
— I picked up my hat and left the house, greatly influenced by the 
hope that Miss Gray might be tenanting some shaded nook in the 
neighborhood. Somewhat to my surprise, she was walking slowly 
down the road. 

“ We’re going boating,” she explained, when I overtook her. “ It 
is so oppressively hot on shore that both aunt and I decided that it 
could be no worse on the water. Then, too, there is a chance that we 
may find some breeze stirring on the bay. Will you not join us?” 

“ With pleasure,” said I. “ But how does Mrs. Loring contrive to 
spare the time ? She is supposed to be busy, day and night, with the 
arrangements for the fete, you know.” 

“So she is,” said the girl, with a smile, “ but when I proposed that 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


511 


she should take a vacation for a few hours she saw the wisdom of the 
idea. She will follow us to the boat in a few minutes. Really, I think 
it was the allurement of a little trip on the water which won her over 
to leaving her designs and programmes. She is devoted to boating, 
you know ; it is surprising that she has resisted the temptation so 
often lately. She has been out with me hardly half a dozen times ; 
and Mr. Johnson has had but one pupil at his sailing-lessons.” 

“ And how have you improved them ?” 

“My teacher is flattering. But perhaps I may be able to display 
my skill in a practical way, if only we get a breeze this afternoon.” 

“ Count on me to be a severe critic,” said I. “ By the way, Miss 
Gray, do you mind if I combine business with pleasure? I have an 
errand to do at Mr. Lamar’s, and if you would land me near his house, 
and then pick me up again, I should be your debtor forever.” 

She fell in with this plan, and I turned back to the house to secure 
a volume which Lamar had asked me to lend him. It was a small 
text-book on histology, I remember, though why he should have desired 
to get a smattering of that branch I never learned. When I reached the 
boat Mrs. Loring was enthroned in the stern sheets, while her niece 
was perched on the narrow seat in the bow. The air was stiflingly hot 
on the sheltered waters of the creek, and the sweat gathered on my 
face as I busied myself with the oars. 

“ Ugh ! this is like the flue of a furnace,” I protested, ceasing 
rowing for a moment to wipe my forehead. “ I envy you ladies your 
parasols and cool attire.” 

“ Ah, but woman’s dress is so illogical, you know, so contrary to 
the dictates of sense and science,” said Miss Gray, a little maliciously. 
To tell the truth, I think she was quoting a remark of mine with 
reasonable accuracy. 

“Do you believe that?” I asked, rather feebly, glancing at her 
over my shoulder. She wore a gown of some light thin fabric, and, with 
the art possessed by many of her sex, looked daintily comfortable in 
spite of the outrageous temperature. 

“ Of course she doesn’t,” Mrs. Loring broke in. “ If any girl says 
such a thing, it is because the fashion is not becoming to her.” 

A remark so direct, so unqualified, and so free from repetitions was 
a novelty. It centred my attention on the speaker, who, I now noted, 
was dressed almost as seasonably as her niece, although she favored 
darker colors. 

“ No man’s opinion seems to be weighty enough to count,” said I, 
“ especially as the kickers would, no doubt, be the first to protest if 
their objections were heeded and led to rational dress.” 

“ Oh, really, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Loring, rising to the oppor- 
tunity. “Some men are so persuasive, so delightfully persuasive, 
doctor, they can convince you, or make you think you’re convinced, 
— which is almost the same thing, don’t you know? And so many of 
your profession, doctor, — when I think how great my acquaintance 
with them has been, it appalls me, it really appalls me, — argue so beau- 
tifully, but so differently, doctor, so differently. And very likely it 
would be the same thing, the very same thing with them, if they had 


512 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


to devise a national costume which should be healthy and hygienic 
and all the other tilings it should be — and they say it isn’t now, doctor. 
Now, I like, yes, really, I must say, I like variety. You can’t imagine 
how pretty, how very pretty some of the girls will look in their fite 
dresses, as peasants, don’t you know, doctor, and all sorts of pictur- 
esque people. It seems a pity, such a pity, that they can’t wear them 
all the time ; though how the poor things would manage in winter — 
no, I’m afraid the short skirts wouldn’t do : do you think they would, 
doctor? Or in church, — how would they look in church? No, no, 
they wouldn’t do in church, they really wouldn’t; not exactly sacri- 
legious, don’t you know, but inappropriate, — yes, that’s just the word, 
inappropriate. But for six days in the week, doctor, for six days in 
the week, think how romantic, how very romantic, they would be. 
That is, in warm weather, of course, — in warm weather, you under- 
stand.” 

“ You are right, I dare say,” I admitted. u We are looking for- 
ward to a great treat. But, if you will pardon a personal comment, 
I’ll repeat that you two ladies fill me with envy.” 

“ How nice of you to say so, doctor, how very nice indeed ! But 
then you physicians have an art, such an art, of saying delightful 
things. You have such practice, you know, such wonderful practice, 
soothing the sick, doctor, and comforting the dying ” 

“ Aunt,” Miss Gray broke in with some haste, “ please do not talk 
about — about — dress any more on such a terribly warm day. It ex- 
cites you too greatly.” 

“ If I’m to attend to my errand now,” I added, “ it might be well 
to put me ashore. I shall not be gone long ; probably not more than 
ten minutes. Where shall I rejoin you ?” 

We were abreast of the knoll, and not very far from it. I ran the 
boat to the bank and stepped upon it, Miss Gray taking my place at 
the oars. 

“ How will it do,” she suggested, “ for us to row down to the bay, 
and then coast along until we come to that other inlet, which runs so 
close to Mr. Lamar’s house? We can run up it, and take you on 
board very conveniently.” 

“ Excellent,” said I. “ You’ll find me a little distance landward 
from the house. There’s some air stirring over the bay now, and you 
may meet a real breeze on the open water. It will be a pleasant change.” 

“ Then we can spread the sail,” said Mrs. Loring. “ Do you know, 
doctor, I adore sailing, I really adore it.” 

Her niece bent to the oars, and the light craft glided on its voyage. 
While I climbed the side of the knoll I could see the boat enter the 
bay. A moment later the girl had ceased rowing, and had shipped the 
slender spar which did duty as a mast. There appeared to be just 
breeze enough to fill the tiny sail. 

Lamar met me at his door. 

“ Here’s that book you wanted,” said I. “ There was an oppor- 
tunity to deliver it this afternoon, and I improved it. Anything else 
you would like to have done?” 

“ Nothing, I thank you,” he answered, turning back into the house. 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


513 


The direful news he had received so recently had had no softening 
effect upon him. He showed no longing for sympathy, no desire to 
seek from his physician a word of encouragement. 

Johnson was at work near by, and I stopped to chat with him, 
while I watched the boat move slowly northward and turn at last into 
the inlet. Miss Gray, sitting on the midship thwart, was managing 
the sail, while Mrs. Loring, at her old post, held the steering-lines. 
She was leaning over the side, I noticed, catching at bits of drift-wood 
floating in the current. 

“ It’s a ladies’ breeze, Johnson,” said I, “ barely enough to give the 
boat steerage-way.” 

“ Ain’t much of it,” he answered, “ and what little strength there’s 
in it comes in puffs. D’you notice ’em ?” 

“ Yes, but they’re baby puffs ; no weight in them.” 

“ Not much, sir, that’s true,” said he, going back to his task. 

I took my time in reaching the spot, about a hundred yards from 
the house, where the boat was to touch ; but so slow had been its move- 
ment that when I looked back it was yet opposite the knoll. Mrs. 
Loring was amusing herself as before, while Miss Gray was exchanging 
friendly nods with the fisherman. On the water just astern of the 
craft was a dark line, advancing rapidly toward it and marking the 
coming of a gust a little stronger than any of its predecessors. A few 
seconds later the sail filled with the breeze, and the boat keeled sharply, 
just as Mrs. Loring made an unusually reckless grasp at the drift-wood. 
I saw her, under the combined impetus, lose her balance and pitch 
headlong over the side, struggle wildly in the water, and then disappear 
beneath the surface. 

I ran at top speed toward the knoll, but long before I climbed its 
slope Johnson had leaped into the stream. He had some little distance 
to swim, however, and, though once the drowning woman’s dress showed 
above the water, she had sunk again before he could reach her. He 
dived, but missed her. Dorothy, with rare presence of mind, had lost 
no time in bringing the boat about, and when Johnson rose to the sur- 
face the little craft was close to hand. Climbing into it, he stood for 
a few seconds searching the water for a glimpse of the unfortunate 
woman, and then dived again. When I reached the rocks above him, 
he reappeared for the second time, and I saw that he had been suc- 
cessful, at least in finding the body. He was a powerful swimmer, 
and almost as soon as I could clamber down the ledges he had brought 
his burden to the base of the lowest of them. Between us we had 
little difficulty in raising her from the water and bearing her to the 
level ground on the top of the knoll. Close behind us was the girl, 
aiding us when she could in our sorrowful task. I knew what that 
moment meant to her, and was amazed at her self-control, notwith- 
standing the evidences she had given of her ability to maintain it in 
emergencies. There was little likelihood, though, that it could avail 
aught in the present instance. 

Johnson’s life along shore had familiarized him with such cases, and 
I had seen several in which resuscitation had been attempted, but neither 
of us had anything in his experience to warrant much hope for Mrs. 

Vol. LVL— 33 


514 


MV STRANGE PATIENT. 


Loring, in spite of the brief time she had been in the water. Never- 
theless, we labored over her long after we realized that our efforts were 
in vain. With that pale-faced girl struggling with the agony which 
possessed her, yet working with us unremittingly, it was a harder task 
to cease than to continue our endeavors. Lamar approached us once, 
but, after a glance at the scene, turned away without a word and re- 
entered the house. A moment later, however, old Martha appeared, 
bearing stimulants, which she placed beside me, and then stood watching 
us with awe-stricken curiosity. 

At last Johnson rose. 

“ It’s no use, doctor, no use,” he said, solemnly. “ The poor lady’s 
gone.” 

The girl gave a despairing cry. Some time before she must have 
begun to realize the truth, but she had battled against it, striving to 
deceive herself. 

“No, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” she moaned. “Oh, aunt, aunt ! 
Gone, gone from me, forever !” 

She reeled, and would have fallen, but I caught her in my arms, 
and held her close as she sobbed upon my breast, crying her heart out, 
it seemed, as the sense of her great loss burst upon her. 


XX. 

Poor Mrs. Loring was laid to rest in the village burying-ground, 
sincerely mourned by the new friends among whom her life had ended. 
Her foibles were forgotten, and only her courtesy, her kindliness, her 
generosity, were remembered. She had done little of harm and some- 
thing of good in the world, — a better record than can be placed to the 
credit of many whose pretensions have far exceeded those of this victim 
of a morbidness of imagination approaching hypochondria. 

Week after week passed, but Dorothy Gray was still in Rodney- 
town, reluctant to quit the kindly circle whose members had shown 
heart-felt sympathy in her affliction. I doubt whether she had been 
able to decide whither to go in case she left the village. She had no 
near relations, certainly none to whom she would turn at such a time. 
In her years of wandering with her aunt she had made few intimate 
friends. In short, she was left without any one from whom she might 
naturally seek consolation and counsel. The good women of the neigh- 
borhood did their best to take the place of kinsfolk and old friends ; 
they wept with her in the days when her bereavement had just come 
upon her, and afterward, when the first bitterness of her loss was past, 
they kept her company and strove to cheer her, after the homely fashion 
of their kind. And so it happened that she remained with us, bearing 
her sorrow as best she could. 

Not long after the death of her aunt I had confirmation of the 
story Mrs. Weston had brought me. The trustee of the estate, the 
income of which Mrs. Loring had received, came to Rodneytown to 
attend the funeral services. He was a lawyer, cautious and reserved in 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


515 


manner, and supposedly as free from sentimentality as the desk in his 
office. Yet under the professional mask there was, after all, something 
of the emotional man, which asserted itself in a practical way, befitting 
the weaknesses of an eminently practical man. 

“ Dr. Morris,” said he, on the eve of his departure, “ there is a result 
of this recent tragic occurrence to which your attention may not have 
been called. Mrs. Loring had only a life interest in the property left by 
her husband, for she had surrendered her dower rights. On her demise 
the estate passes to her husband’s brother and sister, with whom, I 
regret to say, her relations were not amicable. Though she often told 
me that she proposed to lay aside part of her income in order to make 
provision for her niece, Miss Gray, it seems that she utterly neglected 
to put the plan in operation. In fact, she lived very close to her in- 
come, and had it not been for a reduction of her expenses on coming 
here, it is probable that the revenue from the property, calculated to the 
day of her death, would not have sufficed to pay the outstanding claims 
against her. As it is, however, I find that there will be a balance of 
about five hundred dollars, which will be at Miss Gray’s disposal. It 
is very little for a young woman reared as she has been, but, unfor- 
tunately, it is all that she can hope to receive from her aunt.” 

“ She must sutler, then, for another’s carelessness,” said I. 

“ Atonement for carelessness is only too often vicarious,” said the 
man of law. 

“ It hardly lessens her misfortune to realize that it is a common one. 
Do you know whether she has anything in her own right ?” 

“ Next to nothing. As I have said, Dr. Morris, the case is a dis- 
tressing one, and I regret exceedingly that I must be the bearer of such 
bad news to the young lady. She is very likely to come for advice to 
you, and it is to put you in possession of the facts that I have spoken. 
A check for your services to my late client will be mailed you im- 
mediately upon my return to the city.” 

Thereupon the lawyer went his way, leaving me by no means so 
disheartened by his remarks as might have been the case with a man 
whose regard for Dorothy Gray was entirely platonic. He was as good 
as his word in settling Mrs. Loring’s affairs, and in a few days my 
check arrived. Another valuable bit of paper reached me about this 
time from a very different source, one from which it was decidedly un- 
expected. Jones, the mysterious farm-hand, intrusted it to the mails 
not long after I had seen him safely on board a train south-bound from 
Bassettville. In parting he had thanked me with a good deal of hearti- 
ness for my attendance upon him, but had maintained his old reticence 
as to the character of the business which had brought him to Rodney- 
town with results so disastrous to himself. The size of the check, 
though, was sufficient to prove that when he entered Mrs. Weston’s 
employ he was in a position to care little for the pittance she paid 
him. Banks, too, received a substantial token of the man’s gratitude, 
but he was even less able than I to guess what Jones’s mission had 
been. 

These reinforcements to my financial strength helped me to arrive 
at a decision, though it was a decision burdened with conditions. In 


516 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


the matter of fortune, Dorothy Gray and I were not very far apart ; 
and surely her position was such as to encourage the most timid of 
wooers. So far, I found clear sailing. But, once this point had 
been attained in my calculations, there arose a remnant of the old per- 
plexities. Lamar was still the disturbing factor, for, in spite of the 
deadly malady which had him in its unrelenting clutches, I could not 
be certain of his plans, so long as strength remained in him to leave 
his present quarters should he desire to do so. It could hardly be 
supposed that he would survive more than a year ; at least that was 
the limit I had fixed, after allowing him what I believed to be a wide 
margin. A second examination had shown that the disease was ad- 
vancing ^steadily. His precarious condition had in no way decreased 
my aversion for him, but it had had the effect of ending any idea I 
might have entertained of resigning my post. To desert him now was 
out of the question. Yet to remain with him meant a postponement 
of the inevitable struggle for a professional foothold in some city, or 
even of a partnership with Banks. So long as I was in the hermit’s 
employ I must be free to follow him if need arose. It was my duty, 
strive as I might to disguise the fact. 

Dorothy and I did not continue quite the old friendship. There 
was a subtle difference in our relations. We were together often, though 
she seldom drove with me and there were no more boating excursions, 
but there was something of our former comradeship lacking. She was 
graver, quieter, more abstracted. The mourning she wore was no 
meaningless badge of sorrow. She was grieving over her aunt’s loss, 
and, I feared, causelessly reproaching herself for the accident. It was 
not a time for me to speak : it was better to wait until her thoughts 
should be less with the dead and more with the living. I had deter- 
mined, when my opportunity came, to lay my doubts and difficulties 
fairly before her, and to ask her aid in seeking a way out of them. 

But many days wore away before the opportunity was mine. I had 
asked her to accompany me to Bassettville, and we were riding home- 
ward from that town, with the horse fallen into his laziest jog-trot. 
For some little time neither of us had spoken. She was preoccupied, 
I thought, but it did not occur to me to suspect that any unusual cause 
existed for her abstraction. As for myself, — well, inasmuch as she 
was by my side, I was fairly content. 

“ May I ask your advice?” she said at last, breaking the silence. 

“ Surely, in anything,” I answered. 

“ It seems to be best, but I am not quite satisfied with my own 
judgment.” This she said as if more in explanation to herself than 
to her hearer. “ I am going away.” 

“Why?” I demanded. “ Why, and when, and whither ?” 

“ It must be soon : I’ve realized it ever since my aunt’s death,” 
she said, with a brave effort at composure. “ I am poor, — I think you 
know that. I must find a way to support myself. I have thought 
that perhaps I could be most useful as a nurse, and that you could tell 
me where the best training-schools were. The people here have been 
very, very kind, but I must leave them.” 

“ If you heed my advice you will not go away,” said I. “ And as 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


517 


to becoming a nurse, don’t dream of such a thing. Have you any idea 
of the long hours of duty, the responsibility, the strain on mind and 
body ?” 

“ Yes, I think I understand. But what else is there for me to do? 
Believe me, this is no hasty decision.” 

“ But it is one you will never cease to regret.” 

“Regret? I hardly think that, — unless I should find myself 
incapable.” 

“ Nonsense ! Pardon me for speaking so plainly, but that isn’t the 
point at issue. The question you have to decide is this: Do you wish 
to devote your best years to labors arduous, exacting, often rewarded 
poorly in money and even less in gratitude, only to find yourself at 
the end of them broken in health and spirit? I tell you plainly you 
were not sent into this world to lead such an existence.” 

“ Please don’t discourage me,” she said, almost entreatingly. “ You 
don’t understand. I want to do some good in my life, and the way 
I have chosen seems to me the best. I cannot teach, I am not a 
musician, I should starve as a seamstress. But as a nurse ” 

“ You’re the best girl in the world, and the best place for you is 
right here.” 

My vehemence seemed to startle her, and she shrank a little from 
me. 

“ Dorothy, you must not go,” I blundered on. “ You speak of 
making your life useful. Can you not make mine happy? You 
are more to me than all the rest of the world. Without you I — 
I ” 

Then words failed me. I tried to take her hand, but she drew it 
from my clasp, 

“ Dr. Morris, you are very kind, but — but ” 

It was her turn to lose command of her voice, but she regained it 
quickly. 

“ Please forget what you have said,” she went on. “ It will be 
better so.” 

“ But I don’t want to forget it. I want to repeat it. Dorothy, 
can’t you give me hope?” 

“ Please don’t ask me. Why should you ?” 

“You may consider me ungenerous, but I must have an answer. 
What shall it be?” 

“No.” 

The word was spoken low, but too distinctly to be mistaken. I 
looked at her in the vain hope of finding some encouragement in her 
face. Her eyes were averted, and she was very pale, but she was 
clearly mistress of herself. In desperation I pulled the horse down to 
a walk. I was determined to tell my tale through to the bitter end, 
now that it had been begun, and I desired plenty of time for the 
recital. 

“Dorothy,” said I, finding my only grain of comfort in the fact 
that she suffered me to address her thus, “ Dorothy, I — I — love you. 
I should have revealed my secret long ago, had I felt free to do so. 
But so many obstacles were in the way. In the first place, I believed 


518 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


you to be rich. Had I come to you then and made my plea, it would 
have been with the feeling that I was playing the fortune-hunter. I 
saw you daily, and daily the longing to speak grew, but I could not 
yield to it. Not only was I poor, but my prospects were uncertain. I 
was held by a contract which might call upon me to leave you, to go I 
knew not whither. If I broke that contract, I should cut off the 
greater part of the income from which I was trying to save something, 
with a faint chance that eventually I might be able to seek your hand 
with less suspicion of mercenary motives. Then Banks asked me to take 
his practice; but how could I either accept or refuse his proposition? 
Will you forgive me, Dorothy, if I confess that I rejoiced at the news 
that you were poor ?” 

“ Was that generous?’’ she asked, but it seemed to me that there 
was no reproach in her tone. 

“ It was selfish, purely selfish, all through. I won’t try to make 
excuses. It would be hypocrisy to attempt them. When a man’s in 
love, he’s selfishness itself. After I had learned that one stumbling- 
block was out of the way, I determined to end my suspense as quickly 
as possible. Yet I waited day after day, — you know why. But when 
you said that you were going away, it was too much. Hampered as I 
am, knowing how unworthy of you I am, Dorothy, I could not resist 
the temptation. I have had my answer. What happens to me after 
this won’t matter, for I’ve told you that I love you.” 

This lucid statement finished, I stared at the trunk of a dead tree 
on the summit of a little hill far ahead of us, on which my eyes had 
rested throughout the explanation. 

To this day I have a vivid mental photograph of that gaunt trunk 
and its seven bare branches, — I counted them as carefully as if my fate 
had depended upon their number. 

“ I am very glad that you have told me this,” said the girl, 
softly. 

“ I’m sorry I can’t join in the feeling,” said I, savagely. “ Nothing 
is very gladdening to me just now.” 

“ I had thought ” 

“ Well?” 

“ I had thought, feared, rather, that ” 

“ Well?” I repeated, still staring at the tree. 

“ That you were — were asking me out of pity for my poverty.” 

“ You were mistaken.” 

There was a pause. I continued to glare at the tree ; but, after a 
little, in some way the idea penetrated my brain that the hand with- 
drawn from me a little while before was now more neighborly. At 
any rate, a moment later it lay unresistingly in my clasp. 

“ You were mistaken,” I repeated. It was pleasant to hold that 
hand, even though the privilege was one extended to a rejected suitor. 

“ And perhaps you were,” she said, almost in a whisper. 

“Eh! How?” said I, turning to her in perplexity. Her eyes 
met mine for an instant, and a deep blush mantled her cheeks. 

“Can’t you imagine?” The words were hardly audible, but at 
last I understood. 


MV STRANGE PATIENT . 


519 


XXI. 

Altogether, my memory presents the events of the next few days 
in a good deal of confusion. I went about as usual, I dare say, visited 
Lamar, chatted with Mrs. Weston, regularly appeased an excellent 
appetite, and demanded a slightly unreasonable share of Dorothy’s 
time ; but when I endeavor to recall each incident by itself a veil falls, 
as it were, to end the inquiry. I was too jubilant to heed trifles, and 
therefore there is now but a shadowy remembrance of delightful days 
which went only too quickly. Nevertheless, in the course of them 
we contrived to agree upon a general plan of action, — or rather inaction, 
for it seemed wise to let matters continue as they were until we could 
see our way more clearly. To an early marriage Dorothy demurred, 
not only because of the short time which had passed since the death of 
Mrs. Loring, but also because, as she argued, a wife might seriously 
hamper me were Lamar to resume his wanderings and to demand my 
company in them. She took the view that, considering his condition, 
it was out of the question to think of ending my connection with him. 
In a year we should probably be free to go where we pleased, and then 
it was agreed that there should be a wedding, and, after it, a renewal 
of the effort to establish a practice in some city. My savings promised 
to suffice to support two of us for a considerable time, especially as we 
were willing to observe the most rigid economy. Meanwhile, Dorothy 
was to remain a member of Mrs. Clark’s household. 

I have set forth this summary of the plans we made, not because it 
was fated that they should be carried out, but because there is a degree 
of satisfaction in recalling the making of them. Almost as soon as we 
had decided to accept the situation, the events of a few hours wrought 
a complete change in it. 

Lamar’s case had presented several unfavorable symptoms, and it 
had become advisable to alter the treatment. I had driven to Bassett- 
ville to have a fresh prescription filled, and, returning, had reached 
Mrs. Weston’s late in the afternoon. Ordinarily I should have post- 
poned delivering the medicine until the next morning, for I had little 
confidence in the power of any drugs in his behalf; but about nine 
o’clock in the evening, having bidden an unusually early good-night to 
Dorothy, I sat down to enjoy a quiet pipe. Smoking induced reflec- 
tion, however, and after a little I resolved to visit my patient and 
thus to occupy the hour or two which must elapse before drowsiness 
would come. The night air was chilly, and a keen wind was blowing 
from the sea, making the light overcoat I wore a welcome addition to 
my attire. Approaching the knoll, I saw light streaming from the 
window of the living-room of the old house, proving that Lamar, in 
spite of his rapidly failing health, was not yet forced to give up his 
evenings with his books. A volume in French lay open on the table 
when he unbarred the door in answer to the double knock which he 
recognized as mine. With the caution which was a part of his nature, 
he shot a heavy bolt back into its catch before he resumed his chair. 

The table was a heavy piece of furniture, the length of it running 
on the line of the front door and another in the rear wall opening into 


520 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


the kitchen. Lamar sat in his usual place, to the left of the table as 
one entered, with his back to the fireplace. The chair I took was at 
the end of the table near the entrance. The room was well lighted by 
a powerful lamp hanging from the ceiling. The floor was carpeted. 
There was a bookcase in one corner, and two or three chairs stood 
against the walls, but the room was bare of ornament. 

Lamar took the phial of medicine, and heard the directions for its 
use. It was hardly necessary to tell such a man that there was suffi- 
cient strychnine in it to make an overdose a very serious blunder, but, 
as a matter of form, I gave him the warning. 

“ The case progresses ill ?” he said, after a pause. 

“ Yes. That is why the treatment is changed.” 

“ The probable limit you mentioned, — was it too great ?” 

There was no anxiety in his tone. He wanted the truth, and it 
was as well to let him have it. 

“ Yes,” said I. “ Please remember, though, that such estimates are 
mere guesses.” 

“ I comprehend. It is a game of chance. You but reduce the 
period the odds favor.” 

“ Exactly.” 

“ To what extent ?” 

“ A month, — perhaps two.” 

" From the original six ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Again there was a pause, during which lie sat apparently in no wise 
shaken by such evil tidings. When at last he spoke it was to ask me 
about my other patients. 

“ Pm doing next to nothing,” said I. “ As you know, Mrs. Loring 
is dead, and as for the natives, they hold to the old doctor. I’ve made 
no efforts to supplant him. We’re very friendly. He’s offered me his 
succession, but I shall decline it.” 

“ You prefer a city ?” 

“ Yes, even if I have to begin all over again.” 

He fell silent for a space, and then he asked, — 

“ There was another lady — she is young — with Mrs. Loring. Has 
she departed ?” 

“ Oh, no. She will remain here for — for some time.” 

“ Ah !” 

The tone gave no reason to suppose that he gauged my interest in 
the young woman, although I suspected that he measured it accurately. 

“ Have you any commands ?” I asked, rather hastily rising and 
moving toward the door. 

“ None.” 

He, too, rose, with the intention of following me to the door and 
barring it after I had passed out. His movements were slow, however, 
and I had drawn the bolt and turned the knob before he was fairly out 
of his chair. In an instant the door swung back under a violent thrust 
from without, and I was seized by a powerful man, who hurled me 
from him with such force that I reeled against the table. As I caught 
at it for support, I saw Lamar step back to the wall and with a motion 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


521 


like a flash for quickness press the knob, the use of which he had ex- 
plained after my discovery of the wire across the marsh. Then, with 
all his habitual coolness, he returned to his chair, and sat facing the 
intruders. 

Three men had forced their way into the room, and, having locked 
the door behind them, were now ranged against the table, glaring 
at Lamar like tigers ready to spring upon their prey. My assailant 
was of medium height, but heavily built. He was swarthy, black- 
moustached, and black-haired, with a face which, under the influence 
of passion, suggested little more than brute ferocity. He was roughly 
dressed, in this respect differing widely from his companions, whose 
garments, though evidently designed for hard service, were of costly 
material. One of these men was young, hardly more than a boy, — 
a remarkably comely fellow, with clean-cut features and a dark clear 
skin. The third man, who seemed to be the leader of the raiders, was 
tall and sinewy. His piercing eyes looked out from under heavy 
brows; a long moustache failed to hide the firm mouth. There was 
about this man an air of authority and a soldierly bearing which more 
than suggested military training. None of the three displayed weapons, 
though it was not easy to suppose that they had ventured unarmed on 
their mission. 

The peril Lamar had dreaded had come upon him : the enemy he 
had fled from had found him at last. With all my experience of his 
marvellous nerve, I was amazed at the unshrinking courage with which 
he confronted his foes. Not a muscle of his face quivered. The only 
change I could mark was in his eye ; the old look of the fugitive had 
gone, and in its place was the fierce light of desperate hate. 

For a time which seemed almost an eternity, though probably it 
could have been measured in seconds, no one spoke. Then the tall 
stranger, after motioning to his companions to change their places, — a 
manoeuvre which brought the stripling opposite me, as I stood at Lamar’s 
right, — addressed the master of the house, pouring out upon him in the 
native tongue of both of them a stream of invectives, as I could guess 
from an occasional expletive of which I caught the meaning. As he 
spoke, half-smothered curses broke from the others. The man who had 
thrust me back seemed to be beside himself with rage, while I could 
see the fingers of the youth working convulsively, as if in anticipation 
of the moment of closing about Lamar’s throat. 

When the first burst of passion had spent itself, the spokesman 
began what appeared to be the recital of some terrible story. More 
than once he paused dramatically, but only to proceed with renewed 
fierceness. Withal, he made slow work of it, — no doubt for the joy 
of prolonging his enemy’s ordeal, — for his tale was still unfinished 
when the only reinforcement we could hope for arrived. There was 
the sound of a door thrown open, then quick steps as the new-comer 
crossed the kitchen, and then Johnson burst into the room. With a 
bound he was beside Lamar, panting from his run, but quite prepared 
to take a hand in whatever might be doing. 

It was a strange scene that the lamp shone down upon. There we 
were, three to three, ranged on either side of the table, the attacking 


522 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


force no longer outnumbering the defenders, but, of course, far better 
prepared for a struggle. They had blundered in delaying it, and now 
for a moment they hesitated, exchanging quick glances, and giving the 
fisherman an opportunity to study them. Lamar sat motionless, except 
for his eyes, which followed every movement of his chief adversary. 

Suddenly the tall man gave a short quick order, and the youth, 
stepping to the door, opened it, and whistled shrilly. We heard an 
answering signal, followed by the sounds of some one approaching the 
house, and then a fourth man, dressed like the ruffian at whose hands 
I had suffered, appeared in the door-way. The light dazzled him at 
first, and he halted on the threshold, shading his eyes with his left hand 
and displaying an ugly-looking knife in his right. While he stood 
there, his mate, with an oath, whipped out a similar weapon and sprang 
toward the table. Quick as the man was, however, Johnson was 
quicker, grappling him and hurling him back against the wall with 
such force that he lay stunned by the blow. I had had high respect 
for the fisherman’s muscles, but never had I credited them with the 
ability to put forth such power as was evidenced by the crash of the 
burly stranger against the wall. 

Again the defence had gained an advantage, but the odds were still 
against it. Three able-bodied assailants remained, and all of them now 
gave proof that they were armed ; for, while Johnson was putting his 
man out of the fight, the leader and the young fellow opposite me had 
drawn daggers, although they had been unable to use them in aid of 
their ally, so speedily had he been worsted. I dare say they had re- 
volvers as well, but preferred cold steel for the work they expected to 
do. Even on that lonely knoll a fusillade of pistol-shots might have 
attracted attention from the people of the knot of houses half a mile 
away. I know that the blades had a most wicked look, and that the 
sweat gathered on my forehead as I watched them and wondered which 
of them might be destined for me. I was frightened, thoroughly 
frightened ; such courage as I possessed vanished at the gleam of the 
weapons, and, could I have fled, not a moment would I have tarried. 
But there was no escape ; I was forced to remain and to see the end, 
which, though it involved the defeat of the enemy, I had no hand in 
bringing about. 

Well-laid plans once disarranged are generally worse than none at 
all. The programme of the assailants, no doubt, had been prepared 
most carefully. After posting one of their number on the landward 
side of the knoll, the only direction from which, in their ignorance of 
the line of communication with Johnson’s cottage, they would reason- 
ably look for interference, they had advanced, and forced an entrance 
to the house. Once within, their prey was so completely in their grasp 
that, I dare say, they felt able to go about their business with cold- 
blooded deliberation. I do not flatter myself with the belief that my 
presence disturbed them in the least. But, while the arraignment of 
Lamar may have been intensely satisfying as a prelude to their ven- 
geance, it was a sad blunder ; for it gave Johnson time to reach the 
scene and to change the whole aspect of the affair. 

Had they pressed the attack as soon as their comrade was over- 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


523 


thrown, it is altogether likely that one of them might have reached 
Lamar; but, unluckily for them, they failed to seize the opportunity 
in the second or two of its existence. Their hesitation, brief as it was, 
meant defeat ; for no sooner had his man fallen than Johnson drew a 
brace of revolvers from his pockets, and when the strangers started 
forward they looked into the muzzles of the pistols. Lamar, too, 
thus protected, had pulled out a key and was unlocking a drawer of 
the table ; and presently he added another ugly-looking weapon to the 
array trained upon the foe. 

“ Sorry there ain't none for you, doctor," I heard Johnson remark, 
“ but I guess we can 'tend to our friends now." 

For a moment I thought that two of our adversaries would risk the 
bullets, though the last comer quailed at the first sight of the fire-arms ; 
but even for them the odds were now too great. They dared not even 
risk trying to reach their own pistols. They probably had no stomach 
for such a combat as was now offered them. Reluctantly, step by step, 
they retreated toward the door. Then, suddenly, with an oath, the 
leader wheeled about, and, gnashing his teeth in baffled rage, strode 
from the room. 

“ Here, you two," cried Johnson, “ carry off your wounded." 

I doubt if they understood his words, but his gesture as he pointed 
to the man lying unconscious on the floor was plain enough. Sullenly 
they picked up their comrade and bore him into the open air. The 
fisherman followed them to the door, and watched them hurry away 
toward the stream on the north side of the little hill. 

“ Come in a boat, eh ?" said he. “ That's it : you can hear the 
oars. I'll bet they've something to do with that schooner lying off 
there in the bay. Well, Mr. Lamar, they're off, and I guess they've 
had enough, thank ye, for one evenin'." 

“It was fortunate they chose to do their talking first and their 
business afterward," said I. “ But I think we're quit of them for 
some time to come. The abuse that tall chap showered on you was 
unpleasant, but it was mighty valuable, as I figure it out." 

“Did you comprehend?" Lamar asked. 

“ No, except that he was cursing you as energetically as he could." 

He seemed relieved at the answer. 

“ How are you feeling?" said I. “ That's not the sort of entertain- 
ment that does you any good. It must not be repeated." 

“ Yet it has profited me," he answered. “ I am stronger, better." 

“ But you'll pay for it, I am afraid. Let me see how you have 
stood it." 

“ Not now," said he, waving me back. “ To-night I have work to 
do. May I request you both to remain here for a time?" 

“Certainly. We should not think of leaving you before day- 
break." 

“That will suffice," he answered. “For the present, I go to my 
room." 

“ Johnson, what do you make of all this ?" I asked, when Lamar 
had left us. 

“ Not much," he answered, “ 'cept 'twas a close shave for the boss. 


524 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


I thought he’d have trouble with that locked drawer if ever he wanted 
to get at his guns in a hurry. Why, if he’d tried to open it before 1 
come, they’d have carved him into mince- meat before he could have 
got to his weepins. He would keep it locked, though, and you know 
he ain’t a man to argy with. Lucky I brought my brace along ; but 
’twas his orders I should, whenever I got the call.” 

“Why did they pursue him to this corner of the earth? What’s 
the secret, anyway ?” 

“ It’s clean beyond me,” said he. “ Some furrin feud, I reckon.” 

“ This is never the end of it.” 

“ It won’t end till somebody’s dead,” he answered, emphatically. 
“ Like enough a killin’ was the start of it.” 


XXII. 

Whatever business was occupying Lamar, it was not of the sort to 
be disposed of quickly. Hour after hour passed, and still he did not 
rejoin us. At last I climbed the stairs, and, knocking at the door of 
his room, asked if there was anything he desired us to do. 

“ At present, nothing,” he answered. 

“ No use try in’ to nudge him,” Johnson observed, "when I returned 
to the living-room. “ He’ll let us know fast enough when the time 
comes. You’d better get some sleep, doctor, if you can curl up com- 
fortable in a chair. I’ll stand watch.” 

Nothing better suggesting itself, I tried to follow the fisherman’s 
advice, at first with very indifferent success. The events of the evening 
had not been of the sort to make one sleepy. So I sat in my corner, 
speculating on the probable outcome of the encounter. What Lamar’s 
plans would be it was difficult to foretell. Physically he was in poor 
condition to undertake further flight from his enemies, yet he would 
hardly dare to remain without establishing a small standing army. 
Johnson had covered himself with glory, but he was but one man : 
and I did not enumerate myself as a part of the belligerent force. 
Again, the excitement and worry the presence of his enemies must 
cause would certainly have an extremely bad effect upon Lamar, 
aggravating his disease and cutting short even the scant allowance of 
time I had estimated as his. If anything could have overcome ray 
extreme repulsion for him, it must have been the cool courage he had dis- 
played in the face of danger ; but, though I appreciated it, I could not 
bring myself to a more kindly feeling for the man who had exhibited 
it in such trying circumstances. What would Dorothy have to say to 
such part of the tale as I could tell her? I was thinking more of her 
and less of Lamar, when my eyes closed from weariness. 

Johnson’s hand on my shoulder brought me back from my dreams. 

“ He’s called for you,” he said. “ He wants you to go up to his 
room.” 

“Very well; I’ll go : but what’s the time?” I asked, grinding my 
knuckles into my eyes. 

“ ’Most six o’clock. The sun’s just risin’.” 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 525 

Reaching the head of the stairs, I heard Lamar’s voice from the 
rear room, one which he had never before invited me to enter. 

“ Come in,” he said. “ I regret to have detained you so long, but 
my task is at last completed.” 

In spite of his efforts to maintain the old steady tone, his voice 
sounded hoarse and full of weariness ; and all that it suggested was 
more than borne out by his face, upon which fell the cold light of the 
morning, revealing with pitiless distinctness the traces of the struggle 
of an indomitable will against physical weakness. His pallor was 
ghastly, the skin was drawn above the temples, the cheeks were sunken, 
the lines about the mouth were grown to furrows. His eyes burned 
with a feverish fire. The hand which rested on the desk at which he 
sat shook, notwithstanding its support. I had never seen the man in 
such a state, — so completely mastered by his infirmities. How he had 
been able to work through the night was almost beyond comprehension, 
though the bottle of brandy at his elbow showed that he had had the 
aid of a stimulant. It had carried him through, but at a fearful price. 
Plainly, it was no longer a question of weeks or months with him ; his 
days, perhaps his hours, were numbered. 

On the desk before him lay a sealed letter, a check-book, a sheet 
of paper covered with figures, and the little black valise which he had 
guarded so jealously on our journey to Rodneytown, and which I had 
not rested eyes upon since the day of our arrival. 

He motioned me to a seat beside him. 

“ Dr. Morris,” said he, “ last night’s visitation warned me to per- 
form certain duties which, in view of my failure of health, had too long 
been neglected. I desire your assistance in the completion of them ” 

“ I am at your orders,” said I. “ For the little while that 
remains for you,” I added to myself. 

He opened the hand-bag and took from it a paper, which, upon 
being unfolded, appeared to be a petition or agreement of some sort ; 
for appended to several closely written paragraphs was a long list of 
signatures. He gave me no time, however, to decipher either text 
or names. Striking a match, he set fire to the document, which was 
burning briskly before he dropped it to the floor. As the flame 
grew, I saw that about it lay several little heaps of fluffy ash, no doubt 
all that remained of other papers he had chosen to put out of the way. 
He watched the fire creep along until the whole sheet was ablaze. 

“ If the question arise, as it may, you can make oath that a docu- 
ment of this appearance was destroyed,” said Lamar. “ You may feel 
free so to do. No one suffers by the destruction of it, though many 
might by its preservation.” 

“ I will certify to the fact,” said I. “ But who will make inquiry 
about it?” 

“ Possibly no one. But, if inquiry is made, they who ask will 
understand.” 

He opened the check-book and passed it to me. It was one I had 
given to him months before, though, as the funds deposited in the bank 
at Trent stood in my name, he could have had little use for the book. 
In fact, none of the printed forms had been filled in. 


526 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


“ I desire to make provision for Johnson,” he explained. “ He is 
deserving of a reward. Make a check to his order.” 

“ Very well,” said I, picking up a pen. “ For how much ?” 

“ Five thousand dollars.” 

I looked at him in wonder. Was he playing a practical joke of 
some sort? But he met my gaze, and repeated his words: “Five 
thousand dollars.” After all, to a man in his position the fisherman’s 
services certainly had been valuable. I filled up the form, and tore it 
from its stub. Lamar took the slip of paper and thrust it into his 
pocket. 

“ You comprehend the reason in these matters,” said he. “ It is 
necessary to arrange with an eye to the worst. I fear a sudden failure, 
a collapse. If such should be my end, I wish to have my affairs in 
order. For Johnson provision is now made. To Martha, who has 
been a faithful servant, I would give, let us say, five hundred dollars. 
I count upon you to arrange the matter.” 

“ I will do so,” said I. 

“ And as for yourself ” 

“ You have paid me well,” I broke in. But he continued : 

“ As for you, I desire this : when my death comes, you will regard 
as your own the money deposited in the bank in your name. There 
will be no rival claimant. From my memory of the account you sub- 
mitted recently, I am convinced that you will find a considerable sum 
remaining after the two payments you know of have been made. I 
may tell you that the fund has been of late replenished.” 

“ But why should you make me such a bequest ?” I began. “ I 
thank you, but ” 

“ It is no case for thanks,” said he. “ Am I not free to do as 
pleases me with my own ? Moreover, I have yet another request.” 

He poured a little brandy into a glass and gulped it down. Then, 
picking up the letter, he said, — 

“ This I desire you to place in the post at the railway town at once. 
Then send a telegraphic message. Please write the words, * Search 
ended, but without result. Documents burned.’ The address the same 
as that of the letter.” 

“ What signature to the despatch ?” 

“ None is required. Go at once, and return as soon as possible.” 

“ I shall start immediately,” said I, rising. “ Take my advice and 
get some rest, if you can. I need not tell you how you need it. By 
the way, double the dose of that medicine I brought you last night. 
I shall return within three hours, and in that time it ought to have 
some effect.” 

He bowed gravely, and I left him seated at his desk, a mere wreck 
of the man he had been even a few hours before. In that strong 
morning light death’s seal appeared to be upon him. 

Cautioning Johnson not to leave the house, I hurried across the 
plain to Mrs. Weston’s, harnessed the bay more hastily than he ever 
had been harnessed before, and started him off briskly along the Bas- 
settville road. I drove fast that morning, as fast as even the swift 
roadster cared to go. The telegraph operator was just coming on duty 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


527 


when I reined up beside the platform of the railway station, and to 
him I lost no time in committing the message. Its address, which I 
copied from that of the letter, was the banking house in New York 
with which Lamar had communicated previously. Five minutes later 
I had posted the letter, and was beginning my journey homeward. 

Sam Carpenter gave me a friendly greeting as I passed his stable, 
but there was no time for gossip, and the bay sped by at a gait which 
no doubt satisfied him that there was urgent need of my services in 
Rodneytown. Nor did I draw rein until the farm-houses were close at 
hand and I saw Dorothy at Mrs. Clark’s door. 

“ Where in the world have you been?” she asked, running across 
the yard to the road, and gazing up at me anxiously. “ Mrs. Weston 
says that you were away all night. And your horse looks as if you 
had been trying to drive him to death.” 

“ You shall hear all about it, Dorothy,” I answered, “ but I can’t 
tell you now. I must go on to Lamar’s ; but I’ll come back as soon 
as I can. Things have happened which may make a great difference 
to us.” 

I left her somewhat piqued, perhaps, by my brusqueness, and drove 
on toward the house on the knoll. Johnson was awaiting me at the 
base of the landward side of the elevation. 

“ Anything new ?” I asked, as I leaped from the buggy. 

“ Nothin’ for the last hour or so. Soon after you left he called me 
up and give me somethin’, — I guess you know what. Since then I’ve 
heard nothin’ from him.” 

I ran into the house, climbed the stairs, and knocked at Lamar’s 
door. There was no response. I softly turned the knob, thinking that 
he might be asleep. He was still seated in his chair, but his head had 
fallen forward upon the desk, and his arms hung motionless. I sprang 
to him, raised him, and caught sight of his face. One look was enough. 
Lamar was beyond the reach of his enemies. 

As to the manner of his death I was not long left in doubt. Beside 
the desk was found a little phial in which remained a few drops of a 
solution of arsenic. Months before I had brought him the poison, to 
be used, as he had explained, in certain of his chemical experiments. 
With the foes who had pursued him so relentlessly close upon him, and 
with a mortal disease daily sapping his strength, lie had chosen thus to 
end his troubles. He died, I think, as he had lived, strong in his pas- 
sions and his courage. 

It was to be desired, for many reasons, to avoid the notoriety which 
must surely follow a disclosure of the circumstances of his end. John- 
son and I could be depended upon to keep our counsel, and old Martha 
probably had heard nothing of the attack, and had no reason to sup- 
pose her employer’s death to have been due to other than natural causes ; 
but even a suspicion. of suicide would give rise to most unpleasant 
gossip, and quite possibly to an official investigation. By law, a cer- 
tificate of death had to be filed with the town clerk. I realized the 
weight the people would attach to Banks’s signature to such a document 
in case any question of its accuracy arose, and determined to secure it. 
My senior heard what I had to sa^ of the facts, — enough, probably, to 


528 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


give him an inkling of the truth. Then he seated himself at Lamar’s 
desk — I had taken him to the house on the knoll to view the body of 
its late master — and filled out a certificate. 

“ This will, I think, meet your requirements,” said he. “ It is not 
too definite, but it will serve. It is recorded here that your patient 
died of 1 heart-failure.’ ” 


XXIII. 

Not until several months later did I hear something of the part 
of Lamar’s story which explained his coming into my life. A letter 
from Perez brought this explanation, for which I had been waiting 
eagerly. Neither Johnson nor I had had sight again of any of Lamar’s 
pursuers, who, however, we believed, had contrived to secure proof 
that their intended victim had evaded their vengeance. The strange 
schooner had not re-entered the bay, but the fisherman had heard that 
a vessel answering her description had lain for three days at anchor in 
a little harbor some miles up the coast, and that at least four of her 
people had been away from her throughout her stay. It was his theory 
that the four revisited the house the night before Lamar’s funeral; 
though the man whom I had employed to assist Johnson as watcher 
and care-taker, and who was then on duty, reported no unusual hap- 
pening, and the fisherman’s belief had, so far as I could discover, no 
more substantial basis than the fact that as he approached the house 
late that night the sea-breeze bore to his ears faint sounds which he 
took for those of oars against thole-pins. 

My term of residence in Rodneytown was closed within a fortnight 
after the body of the suicide had been committed to the earth ; but 
before I went away there was a wedding, at which an altogether charming 
bride was given away by my good friend Dr. Banks, standing for the 
time in loco parentis. In view of the change in our circumstances, I had 
persuaded Dorothy to consent to an early marriage, and to come with 
me to Trent, where there promised to be an excellent opportunity to 
establish a practice, and where the bay might become a doctor’s nag in 
reality as well as in name. And there Perez’s letter found us, as happy 
a pair as the city held within its borders. As Lamar’s residuary legatee, 
— if the term can be correctly used in such a case, — I was possessed of 
an inheritance which, with my savings, was amply sufficient to support 
us in comfort for the several years we deemed it wise to allow for the 
building up of a profitable professional connection. 

But now for the letter, which was to tell me all I have ever learned 
of the career of the man whom I knew as Lamar. 

“ He was of a family of rank and wealth,” it ran. “ He had much 
to content him with his lot, yet he was by nature an intriguer and a 
plotter, cold, selfish, daring, and revengeful. Many hated him, more 
feared him. So adroit was he in his schemes that, though they some- 
times came to grief, he himself escaped. 

“ At last he became involved in a political plot of the gravest 
character, and for once lost his craft. There was a meeting of the 
conspirators at which enthusiasm ran high, and, in the furor of the 


MY STRANGE PATIENT. 


529 


moment, a compact was drawn up and signed by those present. So 
treasonable was this document that the signers were hopelessly com- 
promised should it fall into the hands of even the most mercifully 
disposed government. Within twenty-four hours after the meeting 
the paper disappeared. The signers set themselves to search for it, 
and at last gained a clue. Following this, they discovered that it had 
come into the possession of a woman of rank, young, beautiful, ambi- 
tious, mad for political intrigue, and attached to a rival faction. The 
fact that she had secured it was sufficient to insure the failure of the 
project it outlined ; but worse than this failure was the menace to the 
signers. It was resolved to recover the compact at any cost ; but then 
arose the question, who should undertake the difficult task? The man 
who afterward came to you volunteered, and was accepted. 

“ He recovered the document. Single-handed he waylaid the lady’s 
carriage, drove off her servants, and, on her refusal to surrender the 
paper, cut her throat. As he had expected, the precious paper was 
found in the bosom of her dress. 

“ He fled the country forthwith, carrying with him the cause of the 
tragedy. So long as he retained possession of it, he was certain of 
holding his co-conspirators at his mercy. Many of them abhorred his 
bloody deed, but he held their fortunes and perhaps their lives in his 
hand ; and some of them, at least, were forced to aid him in making 
his escape. The family of his victim swore undying vengeance. Her 
brothers traced him to Europe, and then to the United States. They 
were close upon him when he sought your aid : had it not been given, 
he could hardly have escaped ; for in your country a man of his face 
and accent was easily traced, — he impressed the persons he met far too 
strongly for his own good. 

“ He had heard of the lonely coast you described to me, and he 
had carried with him the card he presented to you. It was given to 
him, not because I was myself involved in the political net, but because 
others whom I loved were fast in its meshes, and for their sake I de- 
sired him not to fall into the clutches of the avengers. When he came 
to you, the pursuers lost the trail. They searched and searched, but 
for months without result. After a time 1 was told of rumors that he 
had opened correspondence with his brothers at home, and that they 
were supplying him with large sums. His enemies also heard the re- 
ports, and strove in every way to hit upon the channel of communi- 
cation, but their efforts seemed to be doomed to failure. 

“ Chance finally did what skill and bribery could not effect. By 
accident, a traveller who, through friendship for the murdered woman’s 
kinsmen, had aided them in their hunt, stumbled upon the fugitive’s 
hiding-place, and is even said to have seen, from an ambush of his 
own, the murderer moving about his retreat. The discoverer lost no 
time in bearing the news to his allies. Two of the victim’s brothers, 
with a force of assistants in whom they could trust, sailed hence, os- 
tensibly for France. Humors current here have it that they arrived 
only to find that their enemy was dead. It is also said that the com- 
pact is destroyed. If you have any knowledge of its fate you may 
relieve many anxious hearts.” 

Vol. LVL— 34 


530 


MY STRANGE PATIENT 


Lamar’s pursuers had been the avengers of blood. By my aid he 
had evaded them, yet through me they had come upon him at last. 
Fortune’s caprice had granted him but a reprieve, allowing him, in the 
end, only the privilege of dying by his own hand rather than by the 
hands of his foes. Baffled in their vengeance as they would have 
carried it out, they had as partial compensation the knowledge that 
they had forced him to the dread alternative. A penalty — if not 
that which they desired — had been paid for his crime. 


THE END. 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


531 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 

M UCH of the writing on industrial subjects to-day assumes that the 
economic man died several years ago, was buried in a shroud 
of Manchester cotton, and has his resting-place marked by a monument 
more lasting than brass, built of the hearts of the extinct race of clas- 
sical economists. This assumption colors not only the writings of social- 
ists, Christian and Pagan, but also those of some careful observers and 
thorough students whose methods and conclusions are generally sound. 
It is time to find out what relation ethics bears to economics : if phi- 
lanthropy really has taken possession of a part of the field which was 
once occupied by political economy, the latter should recognize that 
further resistance is hopeless, and surrender at once. 

The view of this matter taken by Dr. Schulze-Gaevernitz is the 
more important, and also the more surprising, because his “ Social 
Peace” is a valuable contribution to industrial history, and opens to 
the view the possibility — nay, the certainty — of industrial peace in- 
stead of war ; the co-operation of the sellers and the buyers of labor, 
attained as the result of the continued and more perfect interaction of 
purely economic forces. His book is evidence of the value of the 
economic man to the social man, the intellectual man, the aesthetic man, 
and even the ethical man. Yet he imagines that the ethical man is 
displacing the economic man, or, rather, that the economic man was the 
creation of the disordered imagination of the classical economists, wh6 
are now, luckily for the world, pretty much all dead. “ The classical 
economists,” he tells us on page 34, “ take only the egoistic instincts 
of humanity into account, that is to say, the ‘ wealth-acquiring instinct’ 
and the ‘ sexual instinct.’ But it is one of their peculiarities that, in 
complete accordance with the philosophy of their time, they substituted 
for the actual members of society, with their very varied endowments, 
a number of abstract similar and equally endowed individuals. Hence 
they deduced the desirability of free and universal competition, since 
each individual would naturally understand his own advantage best 
and would pursue it most diligently. It was imagined that if all were 
free to compete, social harmony would come of itself.” 

But it is on exactly those lines that the doctor finds the industrial 
world of England already far advanced on the road to social peace. 
In England there is a larger measure of industrial freedom than on 
the Continent, and he is our witness that social peace is much nearer in the 
former than on the latter. It is perhaps true that there is even more 
industrial freedom in the United States than in England, and unless 
Dr. Gaevernitz has exaggerated the signs of promise in England the 
social peace he pictures is farther from us than from Great Britain ; 
but this is easily explained. Our industrial development is more re- 
cent, and we are dealing with more heterogeneous materials. We may 
be behind England, but we are travelling the same pathway of con- 
tention to the same goal of contentment. 

There has been legislation in the interest of the wage-earners, but 


532 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


this has been the result and not the cause of economic changes. Very 
little of it has gone beyond the repeal of ancient restrictions on the 
freedom of the wage-earners. So far as the law has fixed the hours 
of labor, it has done little or nothing beyond making universal what 
had already become general, and the restrictions put upon child-labor 
are analogous to sanitary and police regulations. The trade-unions are 
represented to have done much to advance social peace, but they do not 
invade the general principles of free competition. The laborer allies 
himself with other laborers in the trade-union as the capitalist allies 
himself with other capitalists in joint-stock companies, if he thinks he 
can thereby fight the industrial battle to better advantage. Nothing 
has yet occurred to shake the confidence of the classical economists, and 
of those who think they have never been greatly improved upon, in 
the doctrine that men should enter the field of production and dis- 
tribution alone or in association with others according to their ideas 
of their own interests. 

It is true that man has many endowments besides the wealth-ac- 
quiring and the sexual instinct, but the latter accounts for his con- 
tinuity, and the former accounts for all his acts as a producer and con- 
sumer. We say all ; there are “ sports” in nature ; the sun is the source 
of all heat, yet the isothermal lines are not parallel with the equator or 
the ecliptic. Here is a man who might manufacture cotton cloth and 
grow rich, but lives in poverty and preaches the gospel to the heathen. 
Another man works for two dollars a day when he might get three if 
he would live remote from his family. Here is a man whose enthusiasm 
in his employer’s business is such that he spends his evenings as well as 
his days in the shop or office, though he is not expected to and gets no 
extra pay therefor. Do these sporadic cases invalidate the general con- 
clusions that a man would not work if he could satisfy his wants 
without, that he works for his own benefit and not for that of other 
people, and that he will do that kind of work, so far as choice is 
afforded him, which yields the largest amount of compensation ? These 
and other things that may be predicated of the economic man are true 
whether he be gentle or brutal, of domestic tastes or the reverse, Chris- 
tian or Pagan, fond of music and art or indifferent to both. If the 
other endowments of men do not materially affect his conduct as a 
producer and consumer, why may we not disregard them, dissect them 
away, so to speak, and in economic matters consider only the economic 
man? 

On page 281 Dr. Gaevernitz speaks of “the demolition of those 
class distinctions which spring from differences of thought and educa- 
tion, and the unfettered development of every human mind. The 
further we go in this direction, the more completely does the social 
centre of gravity shift away from the privileged classes and toward the 
masses of the people. This new tendency is quite foreign to the older 
political economy, which looked upon the accumulation of capital as 
the object of the existence of society. On the other hand, it is in 
complete harmony with the principle of Christianity, which attaches an 
absolute value, greater than that of all earthly things, to a human 
being as such.” 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


533 


The older political economists were not wholly uninfluenced by 
the practical business men, who thought society existed not for the 
accumulation of wealth in general, but for their personal enrichment. 
These men, who were enthusiastic over so much political economy as 
served their own immediate interests, and who fought against so much 
political economy as seemed to them in the interest of some other class, 
left heirs. The men of England who wanted the apprentice laws re- 
pealed and the combination laws retained were the practical business 
men of that day, whose counterparts constitute the mass of the practical 
business men of this day, here and elsewhere, and a survivor of them 
may easily be found in England, surrounded by no small amount of 
religious and philanthropic activity, and surmounted by a coronet. But 
neither the older nor the newer political economy is made up of per- 
sonal and class interests, though their trail can be easily traced across 
the pages of both. 

But what is the object of society, if it be not to accumulate wealth ? 
The development of the mind, the refinement of the taste, the salva- 
tion of the soul ? All the social and intellectual and aesthetic ends that 
men aim at are attained by wealth, not necessarily as an individual 
but certainly as a community possession. Has the human race any- 
where laid aside the pursuit of wealth in order to cultivate its taste or 
its mind ? How long would either taste or mind survive such a change ? 
The individual may give up the pursuit of wealth in order to pursue 
art, but only on condition that the overwhelming majority of men 
keep on pursuing wealth. If the aspirations for a wider intellectual 
vision, for the satisfaction of the higher senses and the ennoblement 
of conduct, either have no effect upon the struggle for wealth or stimu- 
late it, why may we not disregard them, or at least relegate them to 
the second place, and consider the naked economic man ? The removal 
of the cuticle destroys the beauty of a human body, but it lays bare 
the means of exertion and the springs of action. 

And once more for the German student of English industrial 
history : on page 50 he says, “The classical English political economy 
. . . based social harmony on the free competition of individuals. 
What then was left for the State? It must keep violence out of the 
conflict of interests. That is to say, its only function was the pro- 
tection of property.” To this he ought certainly to have added the 
protection of the person. 

If anything has ever been gained by the State’s assumption of 
functions beyond that of protecting person and property and keeping 
“ violence out of the conflict of interests,” the evidence of it is far 
from clear. Dr. Gaevernitz’s own study of the industrial history of 
England affords evidence on every page of the injustice done and 
damage wrought by the State when it has gone beyond this. If nine- 
tenths of the producers find ten hours or nine hours or eight hours 
economically advantageous, the State may perhaps compel the minority 
to comply, but unless the reduced hours are economically advantageous 
they cannot be enforced, and if they are they need not be. The law may, 
however, be permitted to accelerate a change which is inevitable and 
abridge a transition-period which is full of confusion. The law may 


534 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


throw certain restrictions about the employment of women and children 
in the interest of the public health. But the advance that the working 
classes of England have made in the past half-century is due to the 
withdrawal of the State from a field where its action for centuries ac- 
complished only evil to the weaker multitude in the interest of the 
powerful few. 

Since fifty years ago there has been here, as well as in England, 
a great reduction in the hours of labor. But this was not accomplished 
for the pleasure of the wage-earners ; it was accomplished because ex- 
perience proved that after a certain state of fatigue had been reached 
labor was unprofitable. The hours may be still further reduced. A 
large volume of evidence has been collected in the last few years to 
show that production is even more economical with an eight-hour than 
with a nine-hour or a ten-hour day. Experiments in this direction are 
in progress. If what is claimed for the eight-hour day be proved, — 
and it has been partially proved, — the eight-hour day will come into 
general use. But otherwise no amount of ethics or philanthropy or 
Christianity will bring it in. Men are always, everywhere, trying to 
get all they can. If they can get more by working ten hours than by 
working eight, ten hours will they work. 

Wages have been largely increased in the past fifty years, but this 
is due purely to economic causes. The “ principle of Christianity 
which attaches an absolute value, greater than that of all earthly things, 
to a human being as such,” has not induced any employer to increase 
wages. It can be shown that this principle has led to the improved 
condition of the laboring classes, but it has done so in accordance with 
economic laws, and not by suspending them, or violating them, or sub- 
stituting benevolent for selfish instincts. Invention and the extension 
of human control over the powers of nature have enormously increased 
the amount of product, of wealth, that can be got by the labor of each 
individual. This increase has been distributed, and the laborer has 
got a part of it; it is not material to this discussion whether he has 
got his share, or less, or, as some persons believe, more. The material 
tact is that he has been paid his increased wages out of an increased 
quantity of production, and not out of an accumulated fund of altruism. 
No amount of ethics or philanthropy would have been able to pay him 
increased wages had not some one’s inventive skill enabled him to 
weave more yards of cloth and roll more pounds of iron in a week 
than his grandfather did. 

Not only has the increased product enabled the employer to pay 
higher wages, and the expansion of modern industry led him to com- 
pete with other employers in the purchase of labor, but the increased 
wages themselves have increased the efficiency of the laborer, so that 
we have a more startling paradox than Samson’s “ Out of the eater 
came forth meat,” for out of higher wages has come forth cheaper pro- 
duction. One is not warranted in dogmatizing on the subject, but there 
is now within the reach of all who care to investigate the subject a 
large amount of evidence, from many widely scattered sources, to the 
approximate equality of the cost of labor, with the balance of cheap- 
ness generally on the side of the higher wages. This was seen so long 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


535 


ago as when Adam Smith wrote, but to-day it is only vaguely grasped, 
if at all, by the practical business men, whose field of observation is a 
narrow one, whose period of experimentation must be short; and to 
whom an unsuccessful experiment means personal loss or disaster. 

Political economy is by no means a dismal science, and it does not 
need to have the drapery of philanthropy thrown over it lest it should 
be repulsive to the eye. Under its laws, during the last half-century, 
the hours of labor have been reduced, the rates of wages have been 
increased, and the cost of satisfying human needs, material, intellectual, 
and social, has been lessened. That prices will always go down and 
wages always go up can hardly be affirmed, but it is singular that 
the present time, after many years of rising wages and falling prices, 
should be selected for a concerted attack on the existing industrial order 
and a general appeal to substitute ethics, or politics, or both, for eco- 
nomics. 

Some years ago a man took charge of a gang of negro laborers who 
were digging phosphate rock in South Carolina and involving the com- 
pany they worked for in loss. As the wages of the men were only 
seventy-five cents a day, the superintendent conjectured that the un- 
profitableness of the enterprise must be due to the inefficiency of the 
workers. The company did not see how a deficit was to be abridged 
by increasing expenses, but allowed the superintendent some latitude 
in trying experiments, and he supplied the men with rations of corn 
and pork gratuitously. There was little or no increase in the amount 
of work done, and the superintendent suspected that the families of the 
men got most of the food he supplied. He built a mess-shed, hired a 
cook, and fed the men on the premises. At once there was a marked 
improvement in the amount of work done. When, in addition to get- 
ting an abundant supply of substantial food, the men got a dollar a 
day instead of seventy-five cents, they did so much work that the com- 
pany began to make a profit. It would not be quite fair to credit the 
action of the superintendent to Christianity, for he was a Jew, the 
representative of a people whose religion particularly enjoined liberality 
to the poor and the laborer, to whom interest was forbidden, among 
whom trading was discouraged, and who were restrained from the ac- 
cumulation of large landed estates. He may have been actuated by 
humane sentiments, by altruism ; but probably he was governed by 
no higher sentiment than that which moves the farmer to see that his 
stock is well kept, or the steam engineer to feed his fires with good 
coal. Whatever motive may have inspired the experiment, only its 
pecuniary success could have secured its continuance. The stockholders 
could not have carried on the enterprise at a loss. Without economic 
justification the condition of the workmen could not have remained 
improved. The intelligent application of economic principles raised 
the scale of living of the working-men, and afforded a profit to the 
capitalists. 

In his “Old World Questions and New World Answers,” Mr. 
Daniel Pidgeon, of England, describes a visit to the works of the Wil- 
limantic Thread Company, where the comfort of the employees was 
studied in ways not sufficiently common. Among other things, “ At 


536 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


nine o’clock every morning the younger hands assemble in detachments 
to take a cup of milk and a slice of bread and butter. This light re- 
freshment is furnished at the expense of the company.” Colonel Bar- 
rows said to Mr. Pidgeon, u I proved the value of the milk meal by 
figures before I allowed the company to pay for it.” 

In the summer of 1893 the Board of Trade Journal (English, offi- 
cial) published a report on the corset factory of Ferris Brothers, Newark, 
New Jersey, where there were baths which the operatives were allowed 
to use even during working hours. There was a “ retiring-room, in 
which any of the temporarily indisposed workwomen may lie down in 
comfort.” There was a reading-room, and a dining-room, where cooking- 
utensils and tea were supplied without charge. In hot weather ice- 
cream was sold at three cents a bowl. The poorer women could have 
their clothing made on the machinery of the firm at only the cost of 
material, and operatives who would spend thirty dollars to go to the 
World’s Fair could have another thirty dollars for that purpose from 
the firm. “ Questioned as to trade disputes, Mr. McGovern, the man- 
ager, said they never had any.” The Boston Herald lately spoke of 
Mr. Howland, a New Bedford mill manager, “ who a few years ago 
had the tenement houses of a mill which was placed under his charge 
laid out so as to make attractive homes for the operatives, and did this, 
not as a matter of philanthropy, but simply because he believed that 
the tenants were entitled to a fair consideration for the money they paid 
out in the way of rent.” To this Wade's Fibre and Fabric added, 
“ Mr. Howland alone, of all the mill managers in Fall River or New 
Bedford, was undisturbed by the recent strikes.” 

Now, what is the function of humane sentiment within the range 
of the labor question? It is that of preparing the capitalist for 
changes that seem at first to be wholly in the interest of labor, but 
which are also in the interest of the employer. It is that of dissemi- 
nating information to the effect that intelligent liberality is as profitable 
in the purchase of labor as it is in the purchase of fuel and materials. 
The early judicial decisions in this country in controversies caused by 
strikes proceeded on the assumption that low wages were in the interest 
of the community. The laws made and applied by purchasers of labor 
here, as in England, regarded every advance of wages as a public mis- 
fortune. Philanthropy and religion may do much to collect and array 
evidence that the interests of the community are in line with all 
advances of wages that do not discourage the industrial application 
of capital, and that within certain limits, not to be defined except by 
trial, high wages result in increased efficiency of labor, cheapened pro- 
duction, and reduced selling prices. 

This collateral service philanthropy can render. But so far as it 
acts on its own lines it defeats the object it aims at. 

Philanthropy seeks to increase the laborer’s earnings. It seeks in 
vain, for it never can compel men to pay one dollar and twenty-five 
cents for a service they can procure for one dollar. If it could succeed, 
it would speedily bring disaster upon the toiling world. The margin 
of profit is not wide; it has been growing narrower for many years. 
Any material increase of wages, not due to greater or cheaper produc- 


ETHICS AND ECONOMICS. 


537 


tion, must come out of capital ; the small accumulations of the human 
race would speedily be exhausted, and we should be back in the hunting 
and fishing state of existence in much less time than it has taken the 
human race to advance therefrom to Western civilization. But eco- 
nomics, accused of hardness of heart, destitute of the bowels of com- 
passion, has confined itself to studying and promoting industrial freedom 
and the accumulation of capital. In proportion as this policy has pre- 
vailed, the interests of rich and poor, of capitalist and workman, have 
been promoted. 

Cheapness was the idea of the contemned Manchester economist. 
His interest in cheapness was largely due to his desire to see the fortune 
of his neighbor the cotton manufacturer wax large. His altruism was 
very limited, but he was on the side of natural law, and the best policy 
for the individual or the community is to obey natural law. Cheap- 
ness is the foundation of civilization. High wages would never have 
brought about cheapness, but cheapness has brought about high wages. 
Egoism has accomplished what altruism longed for. Cheapened pro- 
duction has resulted in lower prices, larger sales, greater profits at 
smaller rates, more investment in productive enterprises, more demand 
for labor, better prices for labor, and shorter hours and more sanitary 
surroundings for labor. The lint that floated in the atmosphere of the 
cotton-spinning room was injurious to health, but the remedy was found 
through the desire to prevent the waste of material. The extensive 
employment of children in factories was due to the supposition that low 
wages and cheap labor were identical. Had that been true, philan- 
thropy would have been as impotent to drive children out of the fac- 
tories as to make water run up-hill. The bulletins on manufactures 
that the Census Office has been issuing have regularly pointed out that 
much of the apparent increase in average wages between 1880 and 1890 
was due to the substitution of adult for child labor. In the ten years the 
number of men employed in manufacturing concerns increased forty- 
two and seven-tenths per cent., the number of women decreased about 
five per cent., and the number of children decreased forty-two per cent. 
The factory inspectors of the State of New York report that the number 
of children under sixteen employed in factories was a fraction under 
thirty-four in each one thousand persons in 1893, compared with thirty- 
eight per thousand in 1892 and one hundred and twelve per thousand 
in 1887. “ The manufacturers are becoming convinced by experience,” 
say the inspectors, “ that child labor is not cheap labor,” though the 
inspectors attribute the change in part to the greater interest of the 
parents in their children’s education. If any considerable number of 
parents keep their children at school when they could have set them to 
earning wages in a factory, it would be worth while to present some 
evidence of the fact. 

The intellectual man, the ethical man, and the social man keep the 
economic man busy if the physical man ever gives them a chance to 
get hold of him. No sooner are man’s physical wants supplied than 
he develops other wants, which he works harder than ever to supply. 
Now, cheapness means that with the limited amount of labor (which is 
his capital) which he can perform he can supply an increased number 


538 


FRENCH ROADS. 


of wants, and so rise in the scale of civilization. The difference be- 
tween the civilized man and the savage lies in the number of wants 
the former is conscious of, and which he more or less fully supplies. 
Cheapness means civilization, by way of good wages, but if the good 
wages were first secured the cheapness could not follow and the good 
wages could not long be maintained. 

The economic man not only exists, but he may be studied anywhere, 
sordidly seeking to get the largest compensation for his exertions, and 
acting as if the wealth-acquiring and sexual instincts were dominating 
him. By the play of these instincts, subject to such regulations as are 
necessary to enable men to live in contact with each other, the human 
race grows in number and capacity, and slowly adds to the wealth 
without which the social and ethical and aesthetic and intelligent man 
could not exist. 

Fred. Perry Powers. 


FRENCH ROADS. 

T HE laudable efforts now being made in some parts of the United 
States to improve our poor highways have turned attention to 
the general excellence of the roads of Europe. At such times it is 
occasionally remarked, “But we cannot hope for many decades to 
attain this same state of perfection, for these Old World roads were 
begun generations ago.” This is a mistake. In some Continental 
countries men scarcely in the decline of life can recall the time when 
they were surrounded with roads no better than those that abound in 
all parts of our Union. It may encourage the American laborers in 
this good cause to know this fact. 

I shall limit my consideration of European roads to those of a 
single French department, in order to simplify the presentation ; and 
I have selected a region far removed from all great lines of travel, 
containing no large cities and possessing almost wholly an agricultural 
population, my purpose in so doing being to obtain conditions as nearly 
as possible corresponding to those of the country districts of the United 
States. 

The rural department of the Tarn, formed from a portion of the 
upper part of the old province of Languedoc, covers an area of some 
two thousand two hundred square miles, whose greatest length from 
north to south is a little over sixty miles. It is a very hilly country, 
some of these hills becoming almost mountains : so road-making is not 
there an over-easy task. The department contains a stationary or 
diminishing population of about three hundred and forty thousand 
souls. Its annual receipts were, by the census of 1891, 2,188,868 
francs, and its expenditures, 1,787,694 francs. Let us see, now, what 
this rather backward and out-of-the-way corner of France has to report 
in the matter of public highways. 

In the first place, it may be well to state that there are in the Tarn, 
and, for that matter, in all the departments of France, I believe, five 


FRENCH ROADS. 


539 


classes of roads, known as national, departmental, grand communica- 
tion, common interest, and ordinary vicinal. The first are those mag- 
nificent broad highways made and kept in order by the central govern- 
ment. Most of them are old, some more ancient than the monarchy 
itself. They were the great military and diligence routes before the 
creation of railroads. They are of little account in this study, both 
because of their antiquity and because the people of the Tarn had 
scarcely anything to do with their construction. Only five of them 
cross the department, two hundred miles of this sort of road lying 
within its boundaries. 

The next most important category of highways are the depart- 
mental roads, which are to the Tarn what the national roads are to 
France. There are thirty-three of them, five hundred and sixty miles 
in length, and they were built and are kept in order with the funds of 
the whole department. 

The three remaining classes — grand communication, common inter- 
est, and ordinary vicinal, whose nature is pretty well explained by 
their nomenclature — are to-day officially designated by the one name 
vicinal roads. They are to be counted by scores and measured by 
hundreds of miles. They are chiefly the work of the communes , or 
towns and villages, and so are more interesting to us. 

I propose now to examine more closely the history of these two 
grand classes of departmental and vicinal roads. 

None of these roads existed prior to 1836. Before that date, and 
for many years after it, the inhabitants of the Tarn had to put up with 
what were little better than ox-paths. You can still see traces of them, 
— steep, narrow, and twisting. Then the Tarn peasantry were fair 
equestrians, for it was only on a horse’s back that one could get easily 
from town to town. To-day the only beasts of burden in the barns 
are cows,‘ — a curious proof of the improved condition of the roads; 
while stowed away in lofts you occasionally happen on a “ cow 
carriage,” that is, a vehicle drawn by cows, now food for worms and 
moths, but a generation ago the means of transportation of the Tarn 
ladies visiting from one chateau to another, for no horse and carriage 
could travel the roads as they then were.* 

Such was the condition of the department of the Tarn, as regards 
roads, at the time of Louis Philippe’s reign. But from then down to 
the present year, road-building has gone on slowly but steadily during 
all the changes in government at Paris, until the fortunate inhabitants 
of this “ back-woods” department have now an immense net-work of 
well-built and well-kept highways that would delight the heart of 
even the most exacting bicyclist, — hundreds of miles of good macadam, 
so gently graded that a horse could trot almost every rod of it, some- 


* When Maurice de Guerin was brought down from Paris, in the last stages 
of consumption, by his worshipping sister Eugenie (see Matthew Arnold’s 
“ Essays on Criticism,” not for the fact I narrate, but for a charming account of 
these two Tarn literary celebrities), he had to leave the carriage at Cahuzac, 
and, weak though he was, mount a horse for the remaining mile or two of his 
journey. To-day an excellent little vicinal road leads from Cahuzac almost to 
the very door of his beloved Chateau du Cayla. 


540 


FRENCH ROADS. 


times so broad that a regiment could march along it company front, 
and so dry, smooth, and hard in summer as to be scarcely inferior to 
the drive-ways of Central Park. 

The large sums of money required to build these roads have been 
procured by loans and taxation, the first loan of this kind, for 1,500,000 
francs, having been negotiated in 1839 ; and the energy with which 
the work was pushed is shown by the funds annually expended. Thus, 
the departmental roads alone called, in 1839, for 519,000 francs; in 
1840, for 508,000; in 1841, for 500,000; in 1842, for 488,000; in 
1843, for 477,000; and in 1844, for 466,000. At the same time the 
vicinal roads were also under way. Thus, in 1843 the department voted 
94,000 francs for this purpose, and the communes a far greater sum. 
But a quarter of a century later these vicinal roads were devouring a 
much more important total. In 1866, for example, it was 1,123,329 
francs, of which the state contributed only 39,847 and the department 
241,855, while the share of the communes was 741,626, or nearly 
three-quarters of the whole sum, a fact to be noted as showing the 
popular interest in this movement for good roads. This disposition is 
seen in almost every page of the history of this effort. Thus, from 
1836 to the end of 1866 the whole cost of the three classes of vicinal 
roads had been 18,961,488 francs, of which the state had contributed 
but 222,396 and the department 3,945,530, while over 14,000,000 
came from the communes. In 1893, 1,808,763 francs were set aside 
in the departmental budget for the vicinal service, nearly half of it 
being communal or private contributions. 

In 1867, M. Maurel, the then Chief Commissioner of Roads, said, 
in an official report, referring to the finishing of the whole system of 
ordinary vicinal roads, “ The communes will probably never be in a 
condition to accomplish the immense task which they have undertaken 
to perform.” This task was to be the building and keeping in order 
of nearly eighteen hundred miles of roads, of which only about three 
hundred and forty were then done, leaving fourteen hundred and fifty 
still to be built. Then, supposing this accomplished, he added, “ it 
will next be necessary for the communes to provide funds to keep these 
roads in repair. But this will be impossible ;” for, he goes on to say, 
this would call for an annual expenditure of 855,000 francs, which, 
according to M. Maurel, was more than the department could afford. 
So, in order to keep within the permissible limit, 690,000 francs, not 
only could there be no further extension of the vicinal system, but 
even the portion already constructed would have to be considerably 
reduced. Such was M. MaurePs rather discouraging view of the 
situation in 1867. 

But at the end of December, 1891, when the last report was made, 
over twelve hundred and sixty miles of these ordinary vicinal roads 
were done, with eleven hundred and seventy-five miles still awaiting 
completion. It will thus be seen that instead of lessening the task, as 
M. Maurel declared in 1867 would have to be the case, it had been 
considerably increased. Thus, in 1867 the total length was to be 
some eighteen hundred miles; in 1891 it had been extended to two 
thousand four hundred and thirty-five. In 1867 a little over a fifth 


AT SUNSET. 


541 


of the total had been finished, while in 1891, although the total had 
been increased more than a quarter, over a half was built. 

At the end of 1866 the department contained over fifteen hundred 
miles of completed vicinal roads of the three classes, and over five 
hundred more all graded and ready for stoning, provided with five 
thousand eight hundred and thirty-one culverts, one hundred and 
ninety-two bridges, and over fifty thousand yards of wall. It was 
then estimated that it would require over 17,000,000 francs to com- 
plete the work, there remaining to be built a little over one-half of 
the whole system. To-day the end is within sight ; when it is reached 
the Tarn will have some four thousand miles of vicinal roads : add- 
ing to this the two hundred miles of national and the five hundred 
and sixty miles of departmental roads, we obtain the magnificent 
grand total of four thousand seven hundred and sixty miles of macad- 
amized highway. 

But the good work does not end here. Once graded, bridged, and 
stoned, a road — at least the wider ones — must be lined with trees, 
planted at regular distances and cared for almost as if in a private 
park. The total possible length of the Tarn departmental roads which 
could thus be planted is nearly four hundred and thirty miles, about 
one hundred and twenty of which are provided with forty-two thou- 
sand seven hundred and eleven trees, — buttonwoods, acacias, lindens, 
poplars, ashes, and elms. 

Still another improvement remains, even when the road-bed is in 
perfect order and lined on both sides with flourishing trees. The 
highways are being continually straightened, curves made less sharp, 
hills cut down, etc. Thus, the “ Table of Rectifications” of the Tarn 
departmental roads for 1892 contained eleven different modifications, 
involving an outlay of 430,000 francs. 

One more trait of the Tarn road-building calls for a word. The 
honest and economical way in which the money is spent cannot be too 
highly praised. Read this passage, for instance, in the Chief Com- 
missioner’s Report for 1894: “ At the approaches to the village of 
Blan, the wood on the slopes has been cut and sold at auction. The 
money thus obtained might be used to buy up the buildings which jut 
out too far where the road passes through Puylaurens.” In 1889 the 
department made a loan of 500,000 francs to macadamize completely 
certain portions of the departmental roads. The cost of the work 
done up to the end of 1893 showed a saving of 71,454 francs on the 
estimates. Examples of this kind might be multiplied. 

Theodore Stanton. 


AT SUNSET 


F ROM out the gardens of the sun the west wind blows, 
The wanton west wind, wild and free, 

And, lo ! the petals of a rose 

Are strewn upon the sapphire sea. 

Martha T. Tyler. 


542 


THE TRAIN FOR TARROW’S. 


THE TRAIN FOR T ARROW’S. 

“ /CHANGE cars for Tarrow’s Junction ; all points north V east.” 

\J The door flew open with a puff of smoke and chill air, and 
several passengers left the train. The first was a gentleman wearing a 
travelling-cap and ulster, and behind him came a dark-eyed lady, whose 
well-gowned figure was partly covered by a fur cape. She carried a 
book and a little bag, and he had a rifle in a cover. 

“ It is abominable that I did not think there might be a change in 
the schedule,” he said, assisting her to the platform: “two hours in 
this beastly hole is no joke. I am very sorry, my dear.” 

“ I am not,” she said, brightly. “ As we sent the luggage ahead 
yesterday, we shall simply enjoy everything as it comes along. All will 
be snug and ready for us this evening, and then you will have all the 
shooting you want, and I shall have you for a whole week. Just fancy !” 
She laughed delightedly. 

“ And in the mean while ” He paused to look for a cigar. 

“ In the mean while you go and smoke, and do as you please, and 
I shall study nature.” 

“ Humph !” Her husband glanced doubtfully at the desolate, gray 
landscape as he struck a match. 

“ Human nature, I mean.” She looked furtively at a figure fol- 
lowing them. It was the figure of a small woman who, when they 
left the train, had stepped hesitatingly aside, as if accustomed to having 
others take the initiative. She was dressed in black, and there was a 
bunch of lilac flowers above her rather faded little face. She carried 
a green plaid shawl and a bag, and looked anxiously up and down the 
platform. 

The lady paused in the door of the waiting-room and murmured 
to her husband, — 

“ She is expecting him.” 

“Whom?” 

“ Him. That is all I know. She has been brushing off her dress 
and settling her bonnet for miles, and her gloves are perfectly new.” 

Her husband laughed and threw the match away. 

“I doubt if you find anything either tragic or romantic there. 
Very limited material, indeed. Well, I shall stroll about for a while.” 

She nodded and entered the waiting-room, and a few moments after 
the little woman followed her. The dark-eyed lady sat on one of the 
benches which stretched around the bare room. Her book was open, 
but her eyes scanned the dull, leafless landscape out of the opposite 
window. The other woman entered and seated herself across the room 
in a half-deprecating way, as if taking advantage of a luxury provided 
for some one else. She deposited the bag and shawl beside her, and 
crossed her black-gloved hands in her lap, only to unclasp them again 
to fold and unfold a clean pocket-handkerchief. 

The lady bent her eyes upon her book, and there was utter silence, 


THE TRAIN FOR TARROW'S. 


543 


save for the tapping of the telegraph in the office, which served only 
to intensify the stillness. Presently the dark eyes of the lady were 
again lifted to the other occupant. She, the little woman, was working 
on the fingers of her gloves, which were painfully new and difficult. 
Over her head, a flaming poster in blue and scarlet announced that 
Mademoiselle Veronica, the world-renowned Queen of Aerial Exploits, 
would walk a wire from the pinnacle of a certain tent of a certain 
circus on a certain May day of a year gone by. It was accompa- 
nied by a gorgeous picture of Mademoiselle in an impossible attitude 
and supernatural habiliments. As the lady mechanically scanned this 
poster her eyes met those of the little woman beneath it. They were 
blue eyes, and pretty, although not very young. They were pleading, 
too, and accompanied by a very delicate color which stole unexpectedly 
into her face. 

“ A little spinster, who has lived her life in one corner,” thought 
the lady. At the instant the woman spoke. 

“ Could you tell me — I thought maybe you could tell me what time 
the next train for Tarrow’s comes, ma’am ?” 

“ I am sorry, but I cannot,” was the answer ; “ but they can tell 
you at the office.” 

The little woman went to the office window and meekly repeated 
the inquiry. 

“Not for an hour or more,” she said, returning. It was said ap- 
pealingly, and the lady closed her book and remarked, — 

“ Waiting is always trying.” 

The other clasped her black-gloved hands on her lap. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ it’s mighty hard, to-day especially. I just came 
down from Tarrow’s, and I thought there was a train going back that 
nearly met ours.” 

“ Came down to go right back !” thought the lady, but aloud she 
said, “ An hour will soon pass, and you will not be late getting home.” 

“ Oh, Pm not going back home, ma’am. I mean ” The 

woman stopped, as if she had said too much, and the color suffused 
her face. She added, “ I live at Tarrowsville, but I’m only going as 
far as the Junction, — me and a friend of mine.” 

“ He /” thought the lady. Then, noticing the restlessness of the 
other, she again took pity upon her. “We are going on the Down 
East train for a few miles,” she said, — “ such a short distance that it 
seems scarcely worth waiting for.” 

“ And we are going on the train for Tarrow’s to meet the Northern 
Express,” said the other, with an accent which did not escape her 
listener. There was an increased consciousness and color, which, being 
interpreted, said “ the train for Paradise.” 

“ Ah ? You and your friend ?” remarked the lady. 

“ Yes, ’m, me and my — friend.” 

Then there was a long silence, broken only by the tapping of the 
telegraph, and the lady again bent her eyes upon her book. Presently 
she became conscious of the gaze of the other occupant. The little 
woman evidently had something on her mind and wanted to get it off ; 
yet she did not look like a voluble person. 


544 


THE TRAIN FOR TARROW’S. 


“ Unnerved at the prospect of travelling,” thought the lady. “I 
wonder how it feels never to have been anywhere or to have seen any- 
thing.” Aloud she said, pleasantly, “I suppose there is very little 
travel along here at this season?” 

“ I suppose so, ’m,” said the other. “ It has been a long time since 
I had any call to go this far from home, and it’s mighty changed. I 
was going to ask you if you know how long it takes to get to Canada.” 

“ Canada !” The lady paused in surprise. “ Yes : it will take you 
about two days.” 

“ I thought so, ’m. It’s a mighty long ways.” The woman spoke 
a little wistfully. 

“ Not with a pleasant companion,” said the lady. At this the ex- 
pression of the other changed. She grew wonderfully young and ex- 
pectant. She looked down at her gloves, and then up, and, with an 
irrepressible burst of confidence, said, eagerly, — 

“ He’s mighty pleasant. He always was ; mighty companionable.” 

“ That is nice,” said the lady, gently, and then, with a strange feeling 
of interest in spite of herself, she found herself furtively studying this 
little spinster with the child-like face. The result of the scrutiny was 
this. She closed her book on one finger, and, settling herself com- 
fortably, said, persuasively, — 

“ It is always pleasant to meet an old friend from whom you have 
been separated so long.” 

“ Yes, ’m. ’Most thirteen years,” said the woman. The lady’s dark 
eyes lingered on hers in a way that may have been new to one who 
perhaps had led a solitary life, who perhaps had not reached far enough 
out of that life to mistrust sympathy, or who perhaps saw something in 
the dark eyes to which she was not accustomed, and which to her timid 
nature may have seemed the necessary hand held out for her reach. 
At any rate, she arose as if to cross the room, when the door opened, 
and she sat down again. A man entered, and, with a careless glance 
around, went to the office window. He was young, and evidently a 
preacher, and through the half-opened door the lady saw a horse standing 
tied. 

“ Any one been asking for me, Jacobs ?” he said to the man at the 
office. 

“ No, sir.” 

“ What time is the next train to Tarrow’s due?” 

“ Schedule’s changed, sir. Not due for an hour yet.” 

“ Ah ? Then I will return.” 

He went out and closed the door, and the lady marked that the 
woman opposite had shrunk back in her seat with head turned away as 
if she did not wish to be recognized. The minutes dragged by, and 
the little woman became more and more nervous and excited as they 
passed. At length she rose and walked to and fro, gazing out of the 
window. Her face was pink and her blue eyes were bright, and by and 
by, at the sound of an approaching train, she stood still with her hand 
upon her heart and no effort to conceal her excitement. 

“ Limited Express !” called the guard. 

A moment later, a big, burly man, with a florid face, entered hur- 


THE TRAIN FOR TARROW'S. 


545 


riedly and looked around. Then their eyes met. There was an instant 
of indecision, and he strode forward with hands outstretched. She met 
him half-way with a little cry : 

“ Oh, it's you ! It's you !” 

“ Annie !” 

The exclamation was simultaneous. 

Then he held her hands and looked at her. 

“ And not a day older than when I left her, I swear !” 

The woman’s eyes were full of tears, and amid the united exclama- 
tions and whispers of both the lady discreetly bent her own upon her 
book. When she again looked up they were standing before Mademoi- 
selle Veronica, and the man was saying, — 

“ I’ll explain it all when once we are off. I couldn’t arrange it 
any other way. You haven’t talked about it?” 

She shook her head, hanging on his words with the simplicity of a 
child. 

“ No : I did just as you told me.” 

He closed his watch with a snap. 

“We haven’t a minute to lose. You say he’s been in here ? Sure ?” 

She nodded. 

“ Then I’ll go look him up.” He abruptly left the room, and the 
lady, opposite, smiled in sympathy as she met the eager eyes of the 
woman, who was still standing. 

“ It’s mighty strange to see him without a beard,” she said, simply. 
“ He’s always worn one. But it’s just the same to me.” 

The lady nodded comprehensively, and she continued, — 

“ You see, ’m, we kept company for ever so long ” She stopped 

as the door flew open and the big man bustled in, followed by the 
young preacher. 

“ It is very unusual, sir,” he was saying. “ When I received a 
note requesting me to meet a party here, I imagined it was an occasion 
of mourning. I ” 

“ Of course, of course,” broke in the man, whose abrupt, nervous 
manner contrasted strangely with his burly appearance. “ Of course 
it’s an unusual case, sir; circumstances make it so. You, being a new- 
comer in these parts, don’t know her, I reckon ; but she’s lived in this 
circuit all her life; and here’s the special license.” He handed the 
preacher a paper. “ Now all we ask of you, sir, is to marry us right 
away, please.” He paused, and wiped his brow as if under the stress 
of some great excitement. 

The preacher examined the license and said, “This is quite right, 
sir. But have you witnesses?” 

“ Oh, by thunder !” The man whirled around, while the small 
woman clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. He turned to- 
wards the office, but it was closed, the clerk having gone to dinner. 
Then he strode over to the lady. “ Madam, could you witness our 
marriage? It’s asking a lot, but the train for Tarrow’s comes in fif- 
teen minutes. Maybe I can hunt up somebody else outside.” 

The lady rose, went across the room, and said to the little woman, — 

“You would like me to?” 

Vol. LVL— 35 


546 


THE TRAIN FOR TAR ROW’S. 


“ Oh, ma’am, if you would be so good !” And, the blue eyes being 
more appealing than the words, the lady turned to the man, saying, — 

“Then I will, with pleasure. Perhaps you can find my hus- 
band ” But the man had rushed out of the door. The young 

preacher was examining the license, while the lady, catching a breath 
of excitement from the unusual proceedings, drew the little woman 
aside and brushed off her gown and straightened her bonnet. 

“ I am glad I can help you,” she said, with a sudden thrill akin to 
pity, as she met the child-like, expectant gaze of the other. 

“ Yes, ’m,” said the woman. “ He told me it had to be done this 
way. He’s come so far, an’s in such a hurry to get on to Canada, and 
we’ll just make the northern train up at the Junction. He’s got busi- 
ness waiting. You see, ’m, we kept company a good while before he 
went to Texas to live, and he always said he’d come sometime, when 
he could : so I just waited.” 

The last words were pathetic in their determination, and gave the 
lady listening a strange feeling of tenderness. At the moment her 
husband entered, accompanied by the man, who strode forward and 
stood beside the little woman, saying to the preacher, — 

“ Now, sir, right away, please.” 

Smiling at her husband’s amazement, the lady whispered a few 
words in his ear. 

“ But are you sure ” he began. 

“ I’m sure of nothing,” she murmured back, “ except that the little 
creature has waited thirteen years to get married, and is ecstatically 
happy.” She smiled up at him, and he nodded, and at a word from 
the preacher they drew near. A moment later the solemn words of 
the marriage service were uttered before the flaming poster of Mademoi- 
selle Veronica : 

“ I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful 
day of judgment , when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed y that if 
either of you know any impediment ... ye do now confess it. . . .” 

In the slight pause following, the muffled sound of the telegraph 
was impertinent. A train dashed into the station, and the keen eyes 
of the lady marked that the man who was being married started and 
shook all over with a sudden tremor. Through the even tones of the 
preacher’s voice broke the sudden loud tramping of feet and a harsh 
laugh. The door flew open. 

“ Here he is !” 

“Aha !” 

At the exclamations the man dropped the little woman’s hand and 
threw his own outward, stopping the words on the preacher’s lips. 
“Wait!” 

The word was a challenge, an appeal, a command, all in one. His 
face was ashen, and his eyes were fixed wildly, defiantly, upon two men 
who stood in the door-way, one of whom started forward and stopped 
short at sight of the strange group before him. 

“Wait!” 

“ Too late for waitin’ now. We’ve lost time enough already, owin’ 
to your beard bein’ gone. — Beg your pardon, sir” — this to the preacher, 


THE TRAIN FOR TARROW’S. 547 

who was dumb with amazement. The speaker made a gesture to the 
oue behind him, and there was the sharp clanging of metal. 

The man turned a livid face as they approached. “You've got 
me," he said, hoarsely. “ Can't you stay back a minute? Don't you 
see her /" 

He defiantly seized the hands of the little woman, who held his 
sleeve in dumb, piteous amazement. “Annie, don't you see? Don't 
you understand ?" He uttered a sharp exclamation, half a sob, under 
his breath. “ I'd rather die right here than to have dragged you into 
it. I thought I was safe ; I thought I could make it all up to you in 
a new life, and you need never have known " 

“ I — don't — understand," she murmured. 

He tried to speak, and failed. Then he said, — 

“ I hit a man down yonder. I didn't mean to kill him. It's easy 

to do it down there. I meant to do right by you, — I swear it " 

He broke off with a groan and pushed her from him. “ Go ! go home, 
Annie, and try and forget it. Thank God you're not married !" 

He wheeled around, but she caught his arm. 

“ Hurry up," said one of the officers. “ Southern train's nearly 
due." 

The little woman seemed to gather all her scattered force. She 
clung to his arm. 

“ I'd rather be," she said ; “ I'd rather !" He shook his head. 
At the instant a whistle sounded, and both men sprang forward. 
There was a sharp sound, a click, and he wheeled rapidly out between 
the two officers, without looking back, and the door slammed behind 
them. 

The woman stood, white and still, while a train rushed into the 
station, stopped, and dashed out. Then she turned as if dazed, and 
sat down before the poster of Mademoiselle Veronica. The lady, who 
had stood helplessly by, motioned to her husband, who took a flask and 
tumbler from their bag, but the little woman put it aside with a gesture, 
and, leaning forward, spoke to the preacher. 

“ I'm sorry, sir ; I can't take it quite in yet, — but he says he didn't 
mean to do it, sir, and if he says so, he didn't." 

Then she leaned her head back against the poster and closed her 
eyes. The lady made a gesture to her husband, and he drew the young 
preacher out of the room. 

Presently the woman opened her eyes. 

“ I guess my train's 'most due." She spoke mechanically. 

“ I wish we were going the same way," said the lady, gently taking 
her hand. “ I am so sorry ! so sorry !" 

“ Thank you, ma'am," said the little woman. “ I'm used to being 
lonesome." 

She opened her bag and took out a pair of thread gloves and began 
to draw off the kid ones with fingers that still shook. 

“ I reckon these'll do to go back in," she said. “ The others were 
for the weddin'-journey." 

Then she gathered up the green shawl and arose. 

“Train for Tarrow's !" shouted the guard, putting his head in the 


548 


THE KING OF ROME. 


door. The clerk entered the office jauntily humming a tune, all un- 
aware of the tragedy played while he ate his dinner, and the two 
women went out and crossed the platform together. As the train 
approached, the lady, who had laid a pitiful, caressing hand on the 
arm of the other, exclaimed, — 

" Oh, can I do nothing for you?” 

“ No, ’m,” said the little woman. She looked like one who had not 
quite awakened, but as she mounted the steps she turned a pale little 
face, out of which the last trace of youth and expectancy had vanished. 
“I’ll just go back again,” she added, and disappeared in the car. 

The lady turned away, and met her husband on the platform. She 
clung to his arm without speaking, and her eyes were blind with tears 
as the train for Tarrow’s rushed out of the station. 

Virginia Woodward Cloud. 


THE KING OF ROME. 

“ ENTLEMEN, I present to you the King of Rome.” 

VX Thus was Francis Charles Joseph Napoleon, King of Rome and 
heir of France, introduced by his father the Emperor to the courtiers 
and statesmen assembled at the Tuileries on the 20th of March, 1811. 

Down on their knees fell the assembled household, and from their 
voices rang out the greeting, “ Long live the Emperor ! Long live the 
Empress ! Long live the King of Rome !” The baby in its father’s 
arms returned their cheers with a feeble wail. 

Outside the palace gates in the garden of the Tuileries waited an 
impatient throng, listening for the booming of the cannon which should 
announce the birth of a son or of a daughter. Twenty-one salutes would 
tell them of a girl, but one hundred and one reports would proclaim 
the new-born child an heir to the throne of France. From the moment 
the first gun was fired, complete silence reigned, and eagerly each person 
counted the number of salutes. As the twenty -second report boomed 
forth, a cheer rose from the crowd that almost drowned the rest of the 
firing. 

Their enthusiasm knew no bounds. They cheered and shouted, 
and the excitement affected the Emperor as no victory or glory had done 
before. Napoleon stood upon a balcony above the people, and the tears 
streamed from his eyes. Constant says of this event, “ Never had his 
glory brought a tear to his eye, but the happiness of fatherhood softened 
his soul.” 

A curious story is told of the birth of the King of Rome. When 
the child was born he was supposed to be dead, and M. Dubois, the 
physician, made every effort to bring some life into the cold, motionless, 
breathless body. 

At the same time that doctors and nurses were working over this 
lifeless child, the cannons were ringing forth the proclamation of his 


THE KING OF ROME. 


549 


birth. It may have been the concussion and agitation produced by the 
firing that acted on the vital organs, for after the hundredth salute his 
senses became reanimated. 

That was a sleepless night for the inhabitants of Paris. Men, 
women, and children walked the streets, shouting the good news to 
each other, or pausing to drink the health of the new king. From the 
Champ de Mars was sent up a balloon which floated over the city and 
scattered papers to the multitudes, in commemoration of the event. 

The city of Paris presented to the heir of France a wonderful 
cradle, designed by Prudhon. It was in the form of a ship, orna- 
mented with mother-of-pearl and set on a ground of orange-red velvet. 
At the top of the cradle was a shield bearing the initials of the Emperor 
surrounded by wreaths of ivy and laurel ; a figure of Glory over- 
hanging the world held in her hands a crown, in the midst of which 
hung Napoleon’s star. At the foot of the cradle perched an eagle with 
wings half spread, as though about to take flight. 

The King of Pome was privately baptized on the evening of his 
birth, in the chapel of the Tuileries. 

A few weeks later the Empress Marie Louise wrote to her father, 
“ I am going to send you a portrait of the boy. I think you will see 
how much he resembles the Emperor. He is very strong for five weeks. 
He is very well, and is in the garden all day. The Emperor takes the 
greatest interest in him. He carries the baby about in his arms, plays 
with him, and tries to give him his bottle, but does not succeed.” 

About the same time the Empress wrote to her predecessor Josephine, 
“ My friend, I have received your letter, and thank you. My son is 
big and healthy. I hope he will grow up strong. He has my chest, 
my mouth, and my eyes. I trust he will fulfil his destiny.” 

Madame Durand, first lady-in-waiting to the Empress, wrote, “ The 
Emperor takes the King of Pome in his arms every time he sees him. 
He plays with the baby, and holds him before a looking-glass, where 
the Emperor makes faces for his amusement. The child is a merry 
little fellow, and likes his father’s noisy caresses.” 

It is from such extracts as these that we get a glimpse of the softer 
side of Napoleon’s nature. 

Every morning at breakfast the baby king would be brought to 
his father, and the Emperor would dip his finger in the claret and let 
the child suck it. 

At three months of age, on June 7, 1811, the public baptism took 
place, and the event was celebrated with great pomp. All Paris in- 
dulged in a holiday, and the people swarmed in the streets, where wine 
flowed freely from the fountains, and free performances were given at 
the theatres. At seven o’clock in the evening the church of Notre 
Dame was ablaze with light, and the Imperial procession entered. The 
cardinal grand almoner met the sovereigns at the door. They were 
followed by high officials and foreign representatives. The Grand 
Duke of Wurtzburg stood proxy for the Emperor of Austria as god- 
father to the King of Pome. The mother of Napoleon and Queen 
Hortense, who represented the Queen of Naples, were the godmothers. 
Other crowned heads who witnessed the ceremony were the King of 


550 


THE KING OF ROME. 


Spain, the King of Westphalia, Prince Eugene, Viceroy of Italy, the 
Duke of Parma, and the Duke of Frankfort. The King of Rome 
was carried in the arms of his governess, the Countess de Montesquieu. 
His baptismal robe was of silver tissue bordered with ermine, the train 
of which was borne by the Duke of Valmy, Marshal of France. At 
the close of the ceremony the first herald-at-arms proclaimed three 
times from the middle of the choir, “ Long live the King of Rome !” 

That night Rome itself was illuminated in honor of Napoleon II. 

Alas ! this child for whom all France was rejoicing was doomed to 
die in exile, unmourned by his country, and his last words were to 
be uttered in a foreign tongue ! 

Before he was a year old the Emperor had given him a body-guard 
of two regiments composed of boys not over twelve years of age, and 
all sons of men who had died in battle. One day as Napoleon was 
reviewing part of the Grand Army in the Cour du Carrousel, a bat- 
talion of these little foot-soldiers marched by. Placing them on one 
side and the grenadiers on the other, he turned to the latter and said, 
“ Soldiers of my guard, these are your children. To them I confide 
the safe-keeping of my son, as I have confided myself to you. I ask 
your friendship and protection for them.” 

On the night before the battle of Moscow, as Napoleon was giving 
his last orders, a courier arrived from Paris bringing with him a picture 
of the King of Rome by Gerard. The Emperor, showing the portrait 
to his officers, said, “ Gentlemen, if my son were fifteen years old, you 
may be sure that he, and not his picture, would be here among this 
host of brave men.” 

After the disastrous Russian campaign, and during the four months 
Napoleon spent in Paris* his greatest pleasure was the companionship 
of his son. Even if the Emperor was engaged in reading important 
reports or signing a despatch every word of which had to be carefully 
weighed, the baby king would remain seated on his father’s knee or 
drawn close to his side. At times when important matters did not 
press him, the Emperor would lie upon the floor with the boy, and 
the two would play like children. 

It was at this time that the child added to his prayers every night 
this petition : “ O Lord, inspire papa with the wish to restore peace, 
for the happiness of us and of all France.” Napoleon, overhearing this 
prayer, replied, “ Ah, that is my wish.” 

The king was a noisy little fellow, and unusually talkative. Madame 
de Montesquieu once said to the Emperor that his son was proud and 
sensitive. “ Proud and sensitive?” Napoleon replied : “ that is what I 
like to have him.” 

Before leaving the Tuileries for the last time, on Sunday, January 
24, 1814, Napoleon assembled the officers of the National Guard, and, 
coming before them with the Empress by his side and holding the king 
by the hand, he said to his soldiers, — 

“ Officers of the National Guard, I am glad to see you gathered 
about me. I am about to take my place at the head of my army. 
When I leave the city, I confide to you the protection of my wife and 
child, on whom depend so many hopes. I leave without anxiety, since 


THE KINO OF ROME. 551 

they are under your faithful care. Next to France, they are dearer 
than anything in the world to me.” 

Later he wrote to his brother Joseph, “ In no case must you let the 
Empress and the King of Rome fall into the hands of the enemy. 
Do not abandon my son ; and remember that I would rather see him 
in the Seine than in the hands of the enemies of France. The fate 
of Astyanax a prisoner among the Greeks has always seemed to me 
the most unhappy in history.” 

Alas ! the order could not be carried out, for on March 29, 1814, 
the baby king left the Tuileries forever, and one month later was on his 
way to Vienna, where he remained until his death. As the child was 
being carried down the stairs by the equerry he struggled to free him- 
self, and clung to the balusters, crying, “ I don’t want to leave home. 
I don’t want to go away. When papa is not here, I am master.” But 
the poor child was never master of his own fate. He was carried to 
Vienna, where, surrounded by every luxury and adored by his grand- 
father the Emperor, he nevertheless led an unhappy life. 

After he had been at the Austrian court for a year, a messenger 
was one day sent to Paris, and before leaving he asked the King of 
Rome if there was any message he wished to send to his father. The 
child looked about to see if any one was listening, and then quietly 
whispered to the messenger, “ You must tell my father that I always 
love him very dearly.” 

Notwithstanding the fact that the child was unhappy in his new 
home, he was still a jolly little fellow, and enjoyed above all things 
a mischievous practical joke. One of his chief amusements was 
filling his grandfather’s boots with gravel, or tying his coat-tails to 
a chair. One day while walking with his aunt a goat appeared in 
the path before them ; the archduchess was much frightened, but the 
little four-year-old Napoleon walked up to the beast, laid hold of its 
horns, and said, “ Now you can pass. Don’t be afraid ; I will hold him.” 

In 1818 the Emperor of Austria published this decree : 

“ We give to Prince Francis Joseph Charles, son of our beloved 
daughter Archduchess Marie Louise, the title of Duke of Reichstadt, 
and we order that every one in addressing him, either in person or by 
letter, shall at the beginning of the discourse or letter say, ‘ Most serene 
duke,’ and in the course of the discourse or letter shall say, ‘ Most 
serene highness.’ Also Prince Francis Joseph Charles, Duke of 
Reichstadt, shall take rank directly after the princes of our family 
and the archdukes of Austria.” 

The name of Napoleon was taken from him, and his rank as King 
of Rome was gone. In their place he was made a member of the 
Austrian court and bore an Austrian title. It was a great trans- 
formation from being the heir of France, whose birth awakened so 
much enthusiasm, to become only the son of an Austrian archduchess. 

The Duke of Reichstadt — for by this new name we must now call 
him — was taught German, much against his will. “ If I speak Ger- 
man,” said he, “ I shall no longer be a Frenchman.” 

When he was about seven years old he came one day to the Emperor 
of Austria, and, leaning against his knee, said, — 


552 


THE KING OF ROME. 


“ Grandpapa, is it not true that when I was in Paris I had pages ?” 

“ Yes,” answered the Emperor, “ I think so.” 

“ Is it not true that they called me King of Rome?” 

“ Yes, you were called King of Rome.” 

“ Well, grandpapa, what does it mean to be King of Rome?” 

“ It is not necessary to explain that to you, for you are no longer 
King of Rome.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ My boy, when you are a man it will be easy for me to explain 
the matter to you, but now I can only tell you that to my title of Em- 
peror of Austria I add that of King of Jerusalem, though I have no 
influence over that city. Well, you were King of Rome as I am King 
of Jerusalem.” 

When Hummel was painting the boy’s portrait, he asked what 
order should be painted in the picture. 

“ The order of the Holy Spirit, which was sent him when a baby 
by the Emperor of Austria,” said Count Dietrichstein, who was the 
child’s tutor. 

“ But,” replied the little duke, “ I have many other orders.” 

“ You do not wear them any longer,” answered the count. 

“Why not?” 

“ Because they have been abolished.” 

In 1821, when Napoleon died, the duke’s tutor tried to break the 
news gently to the boy, but he had scarcely spoken a word when the 
little fellow interrupted, — 

“My father is dead, is he not?” 

“ Monseigneur ” the tutor recommenced. 

“ He is dead ?” 

“Yes.” 

“ How could any one wish him to live away off there?” the child 
cried, and burst into tears. 

An extract from Napoleon’s will has this reference to his son : 

“I recommend my son never to forget that he was born a French 
prince, and never to allow himself to become an instrument in the 
hands of the triumvirs who oppress the nations of Europe. He should 
never fight against France or do it harm in any way. He should adopt 
my motto, ‘ Everything for the French people.’ ” 

As the Duke of Reichstadt grew older, Prince Metternich, one of 
Napoleon’s bitterest foes, was charged by the Emperor of Austria to 
instruct the boy concerning the life of his father. 

“I wish,” said the Emperor, “to have the duke respect his father’s 
memory, to take example from his great qualities, and to learn to 
recognize his faults, in order that he may avoid them, and also in order 
to arm himself against their fatal influence. Speak to the duke about 
his father as you would wish to be spoken of to your own son. Hide 
nothing from him, but teach him to honor his father’s memory.” 

It must be supposed that notwithstanding the Emperor’s devotion 
to his grandson he was aware of the irony of letting Metternich, Na- 
poleon’s enemy, instruct the boy in the “ exact full history of Napoleon.” 

One day, about this time, an Austrian general was telling the little 


THE KINO OF ROME. 


553 


duke who were the three greatest warriors of their time. The boy 
listened attentively, but when the general had finished he remarked, — 

“ I know a fourth, whom you have not mentioned.” 

“ Who is that, monseigneur ?” 

“ My father,” the child replied, and ran out of the room. 

During his lessons in French history with Prince Metternich the 
duke one day remarked, “ The great object of my life is to become 
worthy of my father. I should fail in my duty to his memory if I 
allowed myself to become the plaything of factions and the instrument 
of intrigue. The son of Napoleon must never descend to the role of 
an adventurer.” 

From time to time attempts were made by Frenchmen to com- 
municate with the duke, but they proved unsuccessful : the boy was 
too carefully guarded. At length his countrymen began to think that 
the Duke of Reichstadt was as foreign at heart as he was in name and 
title. 

In June, 1830, the duke went with his mother and the Emperor 
into Syria, and there he met the Chevalier de Prokesch, a distinguished 
officer who had travelled extensively in the East. The duke sat next 
him at dinner one day; after asking many questions, he finally said, — 

“ What recollection is there of my father in Egypt?” 

The Chevalier replied, “They remember him as a comet which 
passing over a land dazzles it.” 

“You are speaking of the people of higher education, of Mehemet 
Ali and Ibrahim Pacha ; but I refer to the common people, both Turks 
and Arabs. I want to know what they think of General Bonaparte. 
They had to bear the penalties of the war. Do they not retain a deep 
resentment ?” 

It was this same M. de Prokesch who once said to the boy, — 

“ You have a noble end before you, monseigneur. Austria has be- 
come your adopted country, and you may by your talents render it 
immense services.” 

“ I agree with you,” young Napoleon replied. “ My inclinations 
will never lead me to trouble France. I do not wish to be an adven- 
turer. Above all, I will not serve as the instrument and plaything of 
Liberalism.” 

On July 30, 1830, the following proclamation was issued from the 
Hotel-de-Ville in Paris : 

“ Frenchmen, Citizens of Paris, the Bourbons have forever ceased 
to reign. We have just reconquered the Constitution decreed during 
the Hundred Days. Citizens of the Great Nation, we have justified 
the hopes of the Friends of Liberty and Independence. Let us finish 
our work. The Constitution of 1815 contains all our rights. No 
more privileges. No more nobility. Law, Equality, Liberty, that is 
our rallying cry. Napoleon II., the child of Paris and inheritor of 
so much glory, is our Emperor. He is the Chief of the Great Nation 
because he is its first citizen, because there is no longer any ‘ divine right/ 
no longer any nobility. He is our Emperor because to France alone 
belongs the right to choose her Head Chief, to make her laws, and 
to intrust their execution to Napoleon II. Brave citizens, have con- 


554 


THE KING OF ROME. 


fidence in your provisional government ; it is now busy regulating the 
glorious revolution won by your heroic efforts. Frenchmen, if we are 
united we shall be unconquerable. Long live Napoleon II. ! Long 
live Liberty ! ” 

This document was of no importance, emanating as it did from 
some obscure source, and having no lasting effect. It is interesting, 
however, to note the sentiments expressed by Napoleon II. on the sub- 
ject of Liberalism at the very time that he was proclaimed Emperor 
by the Liberals. 

It was once intimated by Count Metternich that Austria might 
release the duke and then use him as a lever to overthrow Louis 
Philippe and the July monarchy. 

It was during the summer of 1830 that Dr. Malfatti, physician 
of the duke, wrote, — 

“ The prince eats very little, and is without appetite. From time 
to time he suffers from throat trouble. He has a chronic cough. 
Dr. Handenheimer has already been very anxious about the prince’s 
tendency to consumption. I could not approve of his cold baths and 
his swimming. The prince was to have begun his military career in 
the autumn. He had just received a commission as lieutenant-colonel 
in an Austrian regiment. It was to this that all his hopes and ambi- 
tions turned. I did not, therefore, recommend myself to his gratitude 
by so formally opposing this change in his life.. In a note to his august 
relative the Emperor 1 gave my reasons. I showed that in his con- 
dition of general debility, especially with his weak chest, any illness 
would be extremely dangerous, and consequently it was indispensable 
to protect the prince from all exposure to the weather and from all 
strains on his voice, which must be expected in military service.” 

The Emperor on receipt of this note from Dr. Malfatti postponed 
the duke’s entrance into the army for six months. 

“ In the spring,” Dr. Malfatti continues, “the prince entered the 
army, and from that time he paid no attention to my advice. I was 
witness to an unmeasured zeal and a boundless passion for this new 
profession, which dragged his feeble body into privation and fatigue 
entirely beyond his strength. One day I found him lying on a lounge 
in the barracks, completely exhausted. He was not able to deny the 
miserable condition in which I found him, and he said to me, ‘ I hate 
this wretched body, which cannot obey the will of my soul.’ ‘ It is 
a pity,’ said I, ‘ that your highness is not able to change bodies as you 
change horses when you are tired of them. But I beseech you, mon- 
seigneur, to remember that you have an iron soul in a crystal body, 
and that its abuse can only be fatal to you.’ All his thoughts were 
concentrated on his military exercises. He never rested. He con- 
tinued to grow thinner, and lost all his color, but to my questions he 
always answered, ‘I feel perfectly well.’ In August, 1831, he was 
attacked with a catarrhal fever, but with all my supplications the only 
precaution he would take was to stay one day in bed.” 

Towards the end of the summer an epidemic of cholera broke 
out in the regiment, and nothing could persuade the duke to leave his 
soldiers. He stayed at the barracks, exposed to the dreadful malady, 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


555 


and Dr. Malfatti was beside himself with anxiety, for an attack of 
cholera would have been fatal. Finally the Emperor ordered him to 
Schonbrunn, where he improved somewhat in health. Every day he 
rode, and insisted on hunting. He implored the Emperor to allow 
him to return to his regiment, and once he was allowed to go back to 
attend a funeral. It was an intensely cold day, and suddenly, while 
giving his orders, the duke’s voice gave out completely. On his return 
from the funeral he felt very ill, and allowed the doctors to be called. 
They found he had a high fever, which he confessed he had when he 
went out. Dr. Malfatti said, “ It seems as if some fatal principle 
pushes this unhappy young man towards suicide.” The duke con- 
tinued to grow worse, and when occasionally he seemed to be getting 
better some fresh imprudence threw him back into a relapse. He lived 
through the spring and early summer, but suffered greatly. 

At times the pain would wring from him cries of anguish, and 
once he called out, “ Mutter, Mutter, ich gehe unter !” At that moment 
his mother came into the room. The duke greeted her with a smile, 
and, though tortured with pain, told her he felt better, and made 
plans with her for travelling in Italy. 

It was on the 21st of July that the “iron will” at last succumbed 
to the “ crystal body.” Though brave to the end, the last words he 
uttered were, “ My God, my God, when shall I die ?” 

Extract from the Paris Constitutionnel, August 1, 1832. 

“ Le fils de Napol6on est mort. Cette nouvelle depuis longtemps 
pr6vue a produit dans Paris une sensation douloureuse mais cal me. 
Cette fin obscure d’une vie h laquelle de si belles destinies avaient 6te 
promises, ce pale et dernier rayon d’une gloire immense qui achdve de 
s’eteindre, quel triste sujet de meditation !” 

Elizabeth S. Perkins. 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 

F ACTS about the interior of New Guinea, “ the least known portion 
of the habitable globe,” are so scarce that Jean Theodore Francen 
van GestePs observations there, made in a region untravelled by any 
other white man, are as valuable as they are interesting. That great 
land of flowers, destitute of beasts and birds of prey, practically free 
from poisonous serpents, and lying in tropical beauty along magnificent 
ranges of mountains almost directly beneath the equator, seems to 
woo the pleasure-seeker, to invite the explorer, if any land ever did. 
Strangely enough, although it is the largest island in the world, leav- 
ing out Greenland and considering Australia a continent, New Guinea 
is as yet in the main a terra incognita. 

Surmise and rumor have supplied a mass of material which the 
scientist dare not accept, strongly drawn as he must be to study a coun- 
try so unique in fauna and flora. Partial penetration by D’Albertis, 


556 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


Maklay, Juckes, Wallace, Bernstein, Meyer, RafFray, and Forbes has 
thrown just enough light on the interior of Papua to make it most 
important to have more. The only white man known to have crossed 
the island from shore to shore, to have actually traversed the vast un- 
known interior and seen the aboriginal Papuans face to face in their 
native forests, is Van Gestel, whose additions to the scant sum of what 
we know of Papua are now for the first time given to the world. Sir 
William MacGregor, now the governor of British New Guinea, and 
one of the most progressive men in Polynesia, was, when Van Gestel 
crossed New Guinea, an obscure Scotch missionary, hovering in a fifteen- 
ton yacht along its southeastern coast. 

Van Gestel, who is now a citizen of New York, was for many years 
one of the most active agents in that wonderful system of surveys which 
the Dutch government has made in its East Indian empire. Save Karl 
Bock, no civilized traveller has penetrated so far as he into the wilds 
of Borneo, that other great equatorial island, which is as yet so fruitful 
of travellers’ tales and mystery. It was always for Holland, and not 
for himself, that Van Gestel made his journeys into those vague and 
fascinating interiors. He comes from one of the oldest and proudest 
Dutch families. More than one town in Southern Netherlands bears 
witness in its name to the antiquity of the family, which was ennobled 
by Charlemagne, it is said, in the eighth century. They were fighters 
all down the ages : one of Napoleon’s guards of honor on the march 
to Moscow was of this stout old Catholic Flemish stock. The ex- 
plorer of New Guinea is third in descent from the Napoleonic marshal, 
and entered the service of the Dutch government in Java in 1871. 

It was in 1828 that the Dutch announced their sovereignty over 
New Guinea as far east as the 141st degree of longitude, substituting 
their rule in that region for the suzerainty of the Sultan of Tidor, their 
vassal. To Van Gestel a half-century later was intrusted the task 
of defining that sovereignty by determining and marking its eastern 
frontier along the line of the 141st degree. The importance of this 
work must be estimated from the vast extent of the Dutch possessions 
in the East Indies, and the fact that in New Guinea Holland had to 
contend, from the west, against Germany on the northeast and England 
on the southeast coast, each bent on grasping as much as possible 
inland. 

The lack of positive knowledge of Papua is made plain by such 
conflicting statements as that of ElisSe Reclus, a very recent authority 
in matters geographical, that the total area of the island is three hun- 
dred and fourteen thousand square miles, while O. M. Spencer, an 
even more recent writer on “ Picturesque Papua,” speaks of its “ esti- 
mated area” as “two hundred thousand square miles.” It seems 
reasonably certain that Reclus’s estimate of the dimension “ from north- 
west to southeast as fifteen hundred miles in a straight line” is con- 
firmed by Van Gestel’s field-notes of his survey. The character of 
such engineering work on a course through the heart of this continental 
mass, along which he was to be the first intelligent witness of the 
wonders of nature and of man alike, must be appreciated in order to 
prepare the mind for the surveyor’s simple, unaffected narrative. He 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


557 


believes, by the way, that New Guinea, Sumatra, Java, Borneo, the 
Moluccas, the Philippines, and Great and Little Sunda Islands were 
once embraced in one continent, peopled by a brown race, of which the 
Dyaks of Borneo and the Papuans of New Guinea are survivals, while 
Australia, New Caledonia, Tasmania, and Ceylon formed another homo- 
geneous country, whose aborigines were black. Ethnologically con- 
sidered, the Papuans are among the most interesting of the native 
peoples left on the face of the globe. 

“ Pua pua does not mean ‘ black’ in the Malay language,” says 
Van Gestel, “so far as I know that tongue, and I cannot subscribe to 
that derivation of Papua. Idem means ‘ black’ in Malay, and poetie 
1 white ;’ the Papuans are distinctly a brown race, never in any way to 
be confounded with the African negroes. That, too, in spite of the 
fact that De Retis, the Spaniard, in 1545 gave New Guinea its name 
from a supposed resemblance between its coast peoples and the negroes 
of the Guinea and Gold Coasts of West Africa. It was as long ago 
as the seventeenth century that the Dutch government took negroes 
from the Gold and Ivory Coast to Java and established them there as 
slaves. In return a colony of Malays was taken by the Dutch to their 
possessions in Cape Colony about the same time, and those Malays, who 
have for more than two hundred years preserved their racial identity, 
speak to-day the same language and wear the same clothes as their 
brethren far away in the East, having preserved almost intact the story 
of their transplantation. The strongly-marked negro faces observed 
among some of the coast tribes in New Guinea are in my opinion 
simply evidence of the dispersal of the Old Guinea negroes who were 
brought to the Dutch East Indies so long ago. The native Papuan, 
as I have seen him, averages but little if any more than five feet in 
height, has a brown but never an oily black face, a short flat nose, but 
never the curly black wool of the negro. The Papuan’s bones are fine 
and thin ; he is active in his movements and a good tree-climber. He 
is by no means a handsome fellow, however, as I will explain later on. 
Nor is he a negro. 

“I started in 1874, from the mouth of the Fly River in the Gulf 
of Papua, on the south coast of New Guinea, to run the frontier-line. 
There was talk at that time of the annexation of New Guinea by the 
government of Queensland, Australia, and so the Dutch government 
resolved to define its possessions. I had been a civil engineer during 
the Franco-German war in Paris, and as soon as the siege was raised — I 
think I must have been one of the very first to leave — I went to Hol- 
land, secured a commission from the king, and started in his service to 
Java. I was commissioned to survey the island of Borneo (except the 
kingdom of Sarawak), Sumatra, Celebes, Minnahassa, Lombok, where 
there has been fighting recently, the Molucca or Spice Islands, and part 
of New Guinea. Such a task might well have daunted a man addicted 
to the pleasures of civilization, but I welcomed it. 

“ No one who has not visited that part of the world is likely to 
realize the beauty and luxuriant life of the Dutch East Indies. When 
Napoleon conquered Holland, England had gained possession of all 
these islands, as well as of South Africa, Cape Colony, and Ceylon ; 


558 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


but after Waterloo England exchanged Atcheen, the northwestern coast 
of Sumatra, for the Gold and Ivory Coast of Africa. 

“ There were plenty of railroads to build in Java when I arrived. 
A private Dutch company had already constructed one railroad from 
Batavia, the capital, to Buitenzorg, the residence of the governor- 
general, fifty miles away. I laid out a line six hundred miles along 
the eastern part of the island, from the ports of Soerabaya and Passa- 
roewang to Malang, to convey coffee and tobacco to the coast. It was 
then that I became acquainted with those famous Javanese peaks, the 
highest in the island, Ardjoeno Gedee and Merapie. One summit of 
Ardjoeno I ascended over twelve thousand feet, and I am free to say 
that, in spite of the tales I have heard since then of the discovery of 
mountains in New Guinea thirty-two thousand feet in height (and 
equally fabulous, I believe, in other particulars), it is my impression 
that the Javanese peaks are higher than any other mountains in all 
New Guinea. 

“ I entered Papua with a detachment of a hundred Dutch soldiers, 
in their tidy uniforms of light-blue linen, and a band of as many 
coolies to carry supplies. 

“ I met William MacGregor, now Sir William, the head of the 
colonial government of British New Guinea. He was on a little 
fifteen-ton schooner lying along the coast southeast of the mouth of 
the Fly Biver. He had his wife and five or six Kanakas aboard, and 
he told me that he was there as a Presbyterian missionary, trying to 
enter into relations with the natives. MacGregor was then about forty 
years of age, I should say, a healthy-looking six-footer with black hair 
and a red face. His wife was a tall, fine-looking woman of about the 
same age, apparently. They had no children, and had been voyaging 
around in a little steamer which, when I saw them, he told me they 
had not long since sold in Australia. ‘You’d better not go into the 
interior of New Guinea/ said MacGregor. ‘The cannibals have just 
killed and eaten the wife and child of a pearl-fisher named Wilson, and 
a sailor whom the captain left behind to take care of them when he 
went out in Torres Strait. When the pearl-fisher came back to the 
mainland he found nothing left but a heap of bones.’ To this I re- 
plied with a smile that I only hoped the cannibals would leave my 
bones too ; but a more peaceable people I have never come in contact 
with than the Papuans. I was later informed that this massacre 
occurred on the coast of Queensland. Doubtless the canny Scotch 
missionary tried his best to discourage all Dutchmen from entering a 
country on which her British majesty had designs. 

“ So into the wilds we started, following at first the course of the 
Fly River, which D’ Albertis, I believe, has ascended some five hundred 
miles. I soon found plenty of work for my coolies in building rafts 
to cross the numerous branches and tributaries of the Fly, breaking 
down the tall alang-alang grass, and chopping away the undergrowth. 
There were no dense forests along the river, but frequent overflows, — 
bandjers, the Malays called them, — which delayed our progress. There 
were alligators in the river near its mouth, but they w*ere not seen after 
we had progressed inland : no noxious creatures of any kind, indeed, 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


559 


so far as I was able to observe, are to be found in the interior of New 
Guinea. My men saw a few long green water-snakes and an occasional 
small python, but serpents were few, and no casualties came from that 
source. 

“ As I worked my way north from the Gulf of Papua, beyond the 
great flood of the Fly River, I could see far away to the east, two or 
three hundred miles, perhaps, a range of mountains whose sides were 
concealed by thick forests and whose crests were perpetually covered 
by clouds. The ferocious Papuan cannibals of whom I have since 
read may have inhabited those mountains ; certain it is that I saw none 
of them. As I advanced into the interior, my course lay up-hill, 
through virgin forests. 

“ The trees — eucalyptus, acacia, pandanus, and many palms — grew 
to great heights, shutting out the sunlight for days together. In their 
shade no undergrowth was found, an occasional cactus and bunch 
of grass struggling feebly where the sunshine broke through occa- 
sionally. 

“ The interior of New Guinea is one vast mass of upheaved granite, 
without traces of minerals or metal ores, the strata tilted and piled 
topsy-turvy. Everywhere the work of volcanic eruptions is to be 
seen. Such a thinly populated region, considering the fact that it was 
an absolutely new country and that fruits and small game were so 
plentiful, I did not suppose could exist. The natives we saw from 
time to time, at a distance mostly; they never molested us. Their 
heads were flat on top, with long, curly, black hair ; they went entirely 
naked. Their buttocks extended out eight and even ten inches, this 
repulsive deformity constituting a fleshy support amply capable of 
sustaining a child in a sitting position. Nor was this their most 
marked peculiarity. Some of the nursing mothers threw their breasts 
back over their shoulders or under their arms at will, to feed the infant 
carried in a sling between their shoulders. The Papuans are a very 
unattractive race to look upon. In arms they were primitive to a degree 
that was astounding. They had neither bows nor spears that I saw, 
their only weapons being stone hatchets. Of the use of metals they 
seemed to be entirely ignorant. In the dry season they made their 
homes in caves, which they found or excavated for themselves. Some 
of these cave-dwellings I visited, discovering fragments of their repasts, 
and occasionally a broken stone axe. In the rainy season they live 
high in the trees, where they build rude houses of sticks laid around 
and intertwined with the branches, thatched with dried alang-alang, 
and reached by shaky-looking stick- ladders. I have always been at a 
loss to see what ethnologists find so interesting in the Papuans, that 
the stuffed skin and the skeleton of one of them should, for example, 
be exhibited as a great curiosity in a well-known European museum, 
where I have since seen them. 

“ Most startling was the solitude, the destitution of life and motion, 
in the great central plateaus, which we reached in our gradual ascent 
from the river-level. There were plenty of small creatures of the squir- 
rel tribe, some of the peculiar pig-headed deer we have in Java, and an 
occasional little tiger-cat, rather handsome than hurtful-looking. That 


560 


INSIDE NEW GUINEA. 


was all. I saw in my whole journey, from the mouth of the Fly River 
on the southeast coast to Geelvink Bay on the northwest, not a single 
beast of prey, unless those pretty little spotted tree-cats could be digni- 
fied by that name. Not a kangaroo, of either the tree-climbing or grass- 
jumping variety, was seen, nor any of the dingos or wild dogs elsewhere 
reported. I did see a number of specimens of the great bat called by 
the natives kalong, or ‘ flying dog/ with its curious coat of light-brown 
hair and its wing-expause of six feet, — truly a formidable-loooking 
creature, but not hurtful as I found it. 

“ But of birds there is, I verily believe, a vaster profusion of more 
beautiful tints and delicate plumage in New Guinea than anywhere else 
in the world. They fairly flamed through those sombre forests, which 
but for their bright hues and sharp cries would have been funereally 
suggestive. What a paradise the interior of New Guinea would be for 
a naturalist ! From the great cebu, which devours stones, and the 
cassowary, through all the species of peafowl and the bird of paradise, 
down to the cockatoos and the wood-pigeons, there were birds of 
beauty in never-ceasing variety and numbers. Small wonder that 
Wallace has enumerated in the northwest peninsula alone two hundred 
and fifty species and sixty-four genera peculiar to the Papuan zone. 

“ At suitable stations along the route I had the soldiers nail up on 
trees the Dutch flag and iron charts of the Dutch coat of arms, on most 
of which no white man’s eyes have since fallen. 

“ When we reached Geelvink Bay, and realized that our task was 
finished, and that Holland’s part of New Guinea was so definitely de- 
termined then and thenceforth that no other nation could lay claim to 
it, we gave a rousing cheer, and it must have been music in the ears of 
the solitary post-holder whom the government had even then for some 
years maintained on the coast. The poor fellow probably didn’t see a 
friendly face more than half a dozen times a year. He lived in a 
block-house, watching the coaling-station for the Dutch war-vessels in 
those waters.” 

British authorities notwithstanding, Mr. Van Gestel says Dutch 
New Guinea is the most populous part of the island ; their best known 
town is Dorei, on the Dutch mainland, at the entrance to Geelvink Bay. 
By an interesting coincidence, he met in Soerabaya, in Java, two years 
after his survey was completed, the daring young Russian doctor 
Miklukho Maklay, who has spent two years on the northeast coast of 
Papua and in its interior, studying the language and customs of the 
inhabitants of German New Guinea. That the news of Van Gestel’s 
trip had spread among the natives was evident from what Maklay told 
the intrepid Dutchman. He said the natives told him of other white 
men who had come down from heaven into the interior, “all in blue 
like the sky,” and with “ long smoke-sticks which belched out thunder 
and lightning,” but for which the intruders would have been attacked. 
These supernatural visitors, Maklay’s informants are said to have 
reported, ate fire and spat smoke. The references to the light-blue 
uniform of Van Gestel’s Dutch soldiers, to their guns, and to their 
cigars are obvious. It was of Maklay that Reclus said, speaking of 
the interior of New Guinea, — 


CARROLL'S COWS. 


561 


“ Long journeys are rendered extremely difficult and often impos- 
sible by the malarious climate of the coast-lands, the total absence 
of stations on the breezy plateaus of the interior, and the often too 
well grounded hostility of the natives, who justly distrust the white 
strangers coming with a revolver in one hand and a bottle of brandy 
in the other. 

“ To complete the work of discovery without friction, explorers are 
needed such as Miklukho Maklay, whose rule of conduct was to be 
ever discreet, forbearing, and truthful in his dealings with the ab- 
origines, and who in the midst of imminent perils always remained 
faithful to his resolutions. But such heroes are rare.” 

And it was to Maklay that Tolstoi wrote that he had “ demonstrated 
by experience that in every part of the world man is still human, — 
that is to say, a sociable being, possessed of good qualities, with whom 
it is right and possible to enter into relations on a footing of mutual 
justice and kindness.” 

Assuredly not less unselfish for his own part, and no less useful to 
his fellow-men, have been the explorations of Jean Theodore van 
Gestel. 

John Paul Bococlc. 


CARROLL'S COWS. 

T HERE was once a painter, named Carroll, who discovered that he 
had a peculiar talent for painting cows. He noticed that when- 
ever he painted pictures containing cows they were praised and he sold 
them readily. On the other hand, if he painted men or women, or 
even other animals, such pictures were scarcely ever sold and seldom 
spoken of favorably. 

“ I only seem to have luck selling cows,” remarked Carroll one 
day despairingly to a friend. 

u Of course,” said his friend, promptly. “ You know how to paint 
a cow.” He put up his eye-glass and looked over Carroll’s last picture. 
It represented a man and woman shelling peas. “ Look at the drawing 
of that woman !” he exclaimed. “ It’s away off. And the man looks 
like a block of wood. Even the peas would give one indigestion. 
Stick to cows, my dear fellow.” 

These criticisms troubled Carroll, particularly as they came from a 
friend and he could not well be angry at them. He looked wistfully 
at the man and woman who had been industriously shelling peas in his 
studio for nearly three months. “ I can’t paint cows all the time,” he 
sighed. 

“ Why not? Why not?” briskly objected his friend. u You can 
paint cows. The public want cows, and will pay you for painting 
them. It is clear to me that nature meant you to paint cows. Don’t 
quarrel with your destiny, man. Why not cows? A cow is an amia- 
ble, intelligent animal, with an angelic disposition. Why this aversion 
to cows ?” 

Vol. LVL— 36 


562 


CARROLL'S COWS. 


Carroll did not continue the argument. He looked at the man 
and woman shelling peas. Then he looked at his old coat, and sighed, 
“ Perhaps you are right.” 

When his friend had gone, Carroll thought over the matter for a 
long time. His thoughts were a mixed jumble of his pressing needs, 
his particular little gift for painting cows, and the strange infatuation 
of the public for those animals. 

He was a plaintive little man, with not much general ability. The 
decision he arrived at was not a surprising one. “ The wisest thing I 
can do” — he pronounced the words out loud in a solemn tone — “ is to 
paint cows, and only cows, hereafter.” But at this point a strange 
resolution shook his slight body, and he said, firmly, “But I will do 
one thing : I will learn how to paint the very best cow that any man 
ever painted.” 

In consequence of this resolution, Carroll began to study cows, in 
every possible way. He sat among them in the fields for days, watching 
their motions, attitudes, and little characteristic ways, as well as their 
shape, size, and general appearance. He studied the anatomy and 
physiology of the cow. He spent an entire summer in the society of a 
few cows, for the sake of observing the temper, disposition, and mental 
peculiarities of those animals. In short, he “ soaked” himself with his 
subject to such an extent that his friends began to think him crazy, for 
he talked, as well as thought, of nothing but the animal which he had 
resolved to know thoroughly. 

But the results of his study soon became apparent in the excel- 
lence of his work. His cows became famous. No collection, public 
or private, was considered complete without one of “ Carroll's cows.” 
He began to coin money. He got good prices for each cow he painted, 
and was never able to retain one in the studio for himself, to keep 
company with the neglected man and woman who still shelled peas 
upon his wall. 

One day a stranger called upon him with a strange request. 

“ I wish to purchase of you,” he said, “ your latest picture, ‘ The 
Benignant Cow/ and also the right to copy the animal in wood or 
in anything else I please.” 

“ If you purchase the picture at my price, you may do so, of course,” 
answered Carroll. He was well dressed now, but his eyes had the same 
ruminating, gentle expression as of old. “ For what do you wish to 
use copies of the picture ?” 

“ I am starting a new dairy.” The man drew a prospectus of his 
new dairy from his pocket. “ Perhaps you, or your friends, will 
patronize us,” he suggested. “I shall call it ‘The Benignant Cow 
Dairy/ and I propose to use copies of your picture as advertisements.” 

Carroll looked a little startled at this novel use of his celebrated 
cows. “ I suppose there is no objection. I paint my pictures to sell. 

Still ” He brushed some dust otf his sleeve gently. “ Take it,” 

he said. 

So the “ Benignant Cow Dairy” was started, and did a flourishing 
business in a very short time. The picture of “ The Benignant Cow” 
hung in a conspicuous place in the dairy, and the little wooden copies 


CARROLLS COWS. 


563 


of the “ Benignant Cow” increased and multiplied until they were 
known all over the city. It is true that after a few thousand of them 
had been manufactured they ceased to look like the picture, or like 
a cow, or like any object upon earth. Nevertheless, they were known 
as “ Carroll’s cows,” which made him still more celebrated and added 
greatly to his income from new pictures. Such is fame. 

Still, this experience disgusted him somewhat. “ I think,” he mur- 
mured thoughtfully to himself, “ that my cows have become, perhaps, 
too realistic. I think I will study hereafter more the spiritual nature 
of the cow. I will devote myself to the higher purposes of her being, 
and to the consideration of her position in the grand plan of the 
universe. The cow that I have so far evolved has found her appro- 
priate place in a dairy. The cow that I will paint in future must have 
a more noble position. I will idealize the cow.” 

So Carroll began to study the inner nature of the cow, in order to 
idealize her. He considered her thoughtful, amiable, gentle, tractable 
disposition ; her devotion to the interests of man ; her steadfast ad- 
herence to duty in supplying the daily wants of the family in whose 
service she was held; her self-abnegation in giving her entire life to 
the good of humanity. With these points to start from, he gave him- 
self to reflections on the probable mind and thoughts of a creature 
possessing such lofty attributes. And in his mind there gradually 
formed a conception of the gracious and exalted nature which the cow 
expressed by her well-known characteristics. 

“ This is what I shall paint in future,” said Carroll. “ I will no 
longer picture an animal suited for dairy purposes. I will show all 
men the true nature of the cow as I now perceive it. And I will paint 
it so well that men shall in future look upon the cow as I see her, and 
no longer according to their own foolish ideas.” 

So Carroll began again to paint cows. And, as before, it was not 
long until people began to perceive that a strange change had come 
over his cows. A group of critics stood one day before his latest pro- 
duction, “ The Cow’s Evening Revery.” 

“ That cow has a most peculiar appearance about her eyes and fore- 
head,” commented one man. 

“ Cow ? Is that a cow ?” asked another. “ Now ” 

“ What did you think it was ?” interrupted a third. 

“Cow? Oh, yes, cow, — of course. Carroll. Certainly. I see. 
Cow. But there is the most extraordinary expression of benevolence 
in the eyes. And the body has a [confused indistinctness. That cow 
isn’t standing upon the grass at all. She’s floating in the air, beaming 
magnanimously on mankind.” 

Then they looked at the cow intently in silence for some minutes. 

“ Huh !” said the first man, shortly, at last. “ Carroll’s gone clean 
daft. I always knew he would. That comes of a man having only 
one idea.” 

Now, near by there stood a man, by name Shotwell, who was the 
friend who had at first advised Carroll to paint cows. He overheard 
the remarks of these critics, and waited about until they were gone, that 
he might have a chance to study the picture by himself. The coast 


564 


CARROLL'S COWS. 


was at last clear, and the critics departed to write out in emphatic 
terms their opinion of Carroll’s cow and Carroll’s insanity. 

Then Shotwell stood and considered the cow which Carroll had 
succeeded in idealizing until it did not look like a cow at all, but like 
nothing that the mind of man had ever before conceived. 

“ It looks more like an angel than like a cow,” whispered Shotwell 
to himself. Then he shuddered, clapped his hat firmly upon his head, 
and marched down to Carroll’s studio. 

“ Carroll,” he began, abruptly, “ I have been to see your pic- 
ture.” 

Carroll brushed invisible dust from his spotless sleeve in his old 
dainty fashion. “ What did you think of it?” he asked. 

“I think, man, you are mad, — stark, staring mad. What upon 
earth do you call that creature you have painted ?” 

“ Is it not a cow ?” inquired the painter, looking with mildness at 
his excited friend. 

“A cow? No! It is not a cow at all. No man living ever saw 
a cow like that. It is an angel you have pictured, and not a cow. 
The proper place for it is in a cathedral, with other angels. Who do 

y° u ” 

“ That is what I think,” interrupted Carroll, with dignity. “ Truly 
that is the appropriate place for the cow as I now behold her. A cow 
is an angel, Shotwell, and I never can paint her in future in any other 
way.” 

The little painter’s tone was so earnest and sincere that Shotwell, 
after staring at him in horror a moment, dashed his hat upon his head 
again and rushed frantically out of the studio. 

“ It is all my fault,” he said over and over to himself, walking 
wildly back and forth in the limits of his room. “ It is all my fault. 
Poor little chap ! Brave little conscientious chap ! He must paint her 
as he sees her, indeed. But his market is destroyed forever, for no one 
but a fanatic would buy pictures representing a being that is a cross 
between a cow and an angel.” 

He considered the matter all night. He saw the difficulties in the 
way of urging Carroll to devote himself to painting other objects 
besides cows. He had a real regard for the little painter’s sincerity, 
but he knew that such cows as Carroll would paint in future would 
be worse than useless for selling purposes. He must persuade Carroll, 
somehow. The responsibility was all his. As a painter of cows Car- 
roll’s reputation had gone forever. 

“ I must be very careful,” he muttered to himself over his breakfast. 
“ I must use diplomacy.” 

Later in the day he walked gently into Carroll’s studio, and found 
the artist making a sketch in charcoal as a study for a new picture, 
which he intended to call “ The Cow’s Resignation.” 

“ Carroll,” he began, looking carelessly around the wall, but with- 
out taking special notice of his friend’s occupation, “ did you ever 

chance Oh, no; there it is. You never sold that little thing 

you did several years ago, ‘ Shelling Peas’ ?” 

Carroll did not look up from his lining. 


THE HERITAGE OF THE MUSES. 


565 


“ No ; oh, no. That was a failure, of course. I never succeeded, 
you know, at anything but cows.” 

“No? Well, I’ve often thought of that picture. Capital bit of 
color. Was speaking to a man about it the other day. Would you be 
willing — ahem — to take a hundred and fifty for it, Carroll ?” 

“ It’s not worth a quarter that,” Carroll laughed. “ Still, I did 
think once — — Never mind. Nothing goes but cows, Shotwell.” 

“ Cows ? Of course. Well, I think the public don’t care for cows 
as they used to, Carroll. Besides,” — with a burst, — “ you and I — 
ahem — kuow, of course, that a cow is an angel, but the general public, 
you see, don’t regard a cow in that light. I’m afraid your last picture 
won’t be a success, Carroll.” 

A startled thought looked out of the little painter’s eyes. 

“ Do you mean 4 The Evening Revery’ ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Carroll was silent a moment. 

44 You don’t think people care for that kind of cow ?” 

44 They’re beautiful, of course. And 4 true,’ certainly. But you’ve 
got to paint cows that will sell. That’s the point.” 

44 Yes, I see. It’s awfully good of you, Shotwell. And if there 
really is any man that wants it, you may have that picture for twenty- 
five, and thank you too. But I will never paint another cow.” The 
little painter spoke with dignity. 44 1 will paint men and women again ; 
and if I can only sell them for sign-boards, so be it. But I will paint 
them as I see them, or not at all.” 

So he did. He never became a celebrated painter in any other way. 
Perhaps he had used up that vital force he had in his rendering of 
cows. The little wooden cows set in circulation by the dairy company 
are still popular, and the dairyman of the 44 Benignant Cow Dairy” 
has since made a competence, and often expresses a grateful obligation 
to the painter who gave him the idea of his title. 

And these same wooden 44 Carroll’s cows” commemorate Carroll’s 
best-known achievement. Such an uncertain thing is fame ! 

e. l. c. 


THE HERITAGE OF THE MUSES. 

C HILDREN of that great Light which fills the sphere, 
And of the Goddess with the shaded eyes, 

Dwelling on scenes long past, and passing dear, — 

Such are the Muses : hence their kingdom lies 
Neither beneath the noon nor midnight skies ; 

A blended heritage, — to them belong 

The regions where the wistful daybeam dies 
And cloud-wrought, purple pageants richlier throng : 
Pensive the poet’s lot, for twilight broods o’er song. 

Edith M. Thomas. 


566 


DOMESTIC SERVICE. 


DOMESTIC SERVICE . 

T HE great riddle of life as it is propounded to each housekeeper 
when she comes to her kingdom is, How shall domestic service 
be made an avenue of pleasure instead of a via dolorosa? 

The varied experience of a quarter of a century of housekeeping, 
while it has shown me some of the shoals, has not taught me how to 
avoid all the rocks that lie in the housekeeper’s way. But both ex- 
perience and observation have shown me that we Americans are unique 
in our trials, or, at least, are so regarded by others, for there certainly 
exists a belief among the nations of the earth that we are the most ill 
served people in the world. 

London Truth once offered a reward of twenty dollars for the most 
entertaining anecdote concerning American servants. I did not have 
the good fortune to see the selected specimen, but, judging by the 
stories with which I have been regaled without an offered reward, it 
may have been very droll, and very humiliating, too, — for why should 
our domestics comport themselves in a manner that sets them and us 
apart ? 

We are accused of resigned submission to insolence and exactions 
that no other people would tolerate from hirelings ; but it is im- 
possible for foreigners, unless they have lived long in the country, 
to comprehend that the kindly consideration with which we treat 
those who work for us is largely an outgrowth of our democratic in- 
stitutions. 

This kindliness is probably good seed thrown upon rocky ground, 
for it is a conceded fact that the easiest mistresses are the most poorly 
served. 

Does the reader remember three pictures, representing mistress and 
maid of the past, present, and future, that appeared a few years ago in 
an illustrated paper ? 

In the first the mistress says peremptorily to a servant, who meekly 
does her bidding, “ Put some coal on the fire, Mary.” 

In the next, the young housekeeper, with most conciliatory mien, 
says, “ Oh, Mary, would you please put on a little coal ?” 

In the last, the meek mistress of the future cowers before an im- 
placable-looking maid and with a propitiatory air offers to put coal 
herself on both parlor and kitchen fires. 

The first pictures are recognizable for their fidelity ; let us hope we 
may never have to say that of the last. 

In my own house I have tried Irish, Welsh, Germans, Scandina- 
vians, and native-born Americans. The latter class are hard to per- 
suade into household service, and in some respects they are a little 
disappointing when secured. They have too much independence to 
obey orders, and, from want of technical education, not enough of the 
right kind of ability to give satisfaction when allowed to act without 
direction. 

I am disposed to think that the strong, pre-eminent feeling that 


DOMESTIC SERVICE. 


567 


reigns in every American bosom, of being equal to every other man or 
woman on earth, is a serious bar to properly preserving the family 
relation as represented by mistress and maid. As an American I 
would rather have my own countrywomen in my kitchen than any 
others, but till they can be made to understand that service is not 
servility and therefore contemptible, and that housework is as respect- 
able a business as shop-work, I fear I shall not be able to employ 
them, even if they should wish it themselves. Many housekeepers 
will agree with me in my conclusion. 

We cannot be made comfortable by servants who show by words, 
looks, and manner that they serve us under protest and are boiling 
over with wrath and indignation because we expect them to do things 
we are not in the habit of doing ourselves. That probably is the 
rub with Americans, for they make excellent assistants, I am told, in 
farm-houses, where the wives and daughters work with them, and 
where they are treated in all ways like members of the family. 

Their strong feeling of equality is not altogether an outgrowth of 
modern customs, for I can remember visiting, when I was hardly more 
than a baby, a great-aunt who lived in the western part of New York 
State, who apologized to my mother for having her two handmaidens 
sit down to dinner with us, explaining that they were American girls 
and would never submit to any other usage. I think my surprise 
must have been manifest in my innocent young features, for one of the 
“ help” told me snappishly, during dinner, that I might stare harder 
if I put on specs. 

Yet those self* asserting girls lived many years with the old lady, 
and one married a well-to-do farmer who has since attained political 
prominence. 

No; when I mentally accomplish the process known as putting 
myself in her shoes, I do not blame the American girl for refusing 
domestic service till out of much trial and experimenting we have 
learned to make housekeeping a regular business, conducted with the 
system and exactitude that belong to any other business. The idea of 
co-operation is crude now, but possibly it may yet be found available 
for the heavier work of families, with a lessening of expense and an 
increase of comfort that will greatly lighten the burden of life. 

The employment of colored servants is a matter of taste or preju- 
dice. They have their virtues and their faults, like others of the class 
some one has called our necessary evils, and it can hardly be said that 
they are altogether satisfactory in every department, although as cooks 
and coachmen they are far superior to most of our employees in similar 
positions. 

The question of Irish servants has often been discussed in all its 
infinite variety of aspect by abler pens than mine ; so I need not dwell 
on their well-known characteristics. 

Of the Swedes, Germans, and Danes, who are rapidly coming into 
the field, the general public are less well informed, because their em- 
ployment may still be considered an experiment. The unacquaintance 
with our language of the newly imported is a most serious drawback, 
but those of them who have been long enough in this country to con- 


568 


DOMESTIC SERVICE. 


quer its speech are found to be valuable servants. They are appre- 
ciative of kindness, anxious to please, willing to work, and not too 
tenacious of their privileges. But, in spite of this rather attractive 
synopsis of endowments, people are shy of employing these foreigners, 
on account of the ordeal of teaching them our work and ways ; and, 
so utopian are the golden dreams these exiles have cherished before 
coming, they consider ordinary wages too small for the very inadequate 
service they render. A green Irish girl expects to work for a trifle : 
a freshly landed Swede has but one idea in her head, and that is “ big 
money.” 

The demand for large wages is not based upon the idea of their 
own worth and competency, but is made solely because this is a rich 
country and they want some of the gold that is lying about waiting to 
be picked up. 

After some weary months of perseverance in well-doing, the patient 
toil of an earnest mistress is rewarded in many instances by the con- 
version of the blundering, obtuse, raw material into a valuable servant, 
partially at least worth the trouble taken with her, and at last deserving 
of the good wages insisted on from the first ; but the remuneration no 
longer satisfies her, and, acting under the advice of the fellow-country- 
woman who imported her, Hilda, Christine, or Anni (she is nearly sure to 
bear one of these three pretty names) rises on her merits and demands two 
or three extra dollars per month, because of her new accomplishments. 
Comply with the first claim, and shortly another is made, till soon a 
moderately economical housekeeper has to part with her treasure and 
begin the education of a new venture. 

Naturally it is only a practical, well-informed housekeeper who can 
train raw recruits, whatever their nationality ; and here is a good place 
to say that no woman, rich or poor, in town or country, is fit to fill a 
housekeeper’s position in her own house till she understands the busi- 
ness in detail. Half at least of the woes of domestic life and the 
trials of poor service spring from the incompetency of the house- 
mistress. 

From what silly theory did the idea ever come that it is sweetly 
fascinating in a young wife to profess complacently, “ Oh, dear, no ! I 
know nothing in the world about cooking or housekeeping” ? Cherry 
lips and dimples blind one to the smallness of the mind that glories in 
ignorance; but, as a merchant or a manufacturer acquires technical 
knowledge before he enters business, — for he will hardly ask his clerks 
to teach him details, — so a woman should be trained for her profession, 
or else the lovely, helpless butterfly will develop into an unsuccessful 
old wife, bullied by hirelings and undervalued by the husband who 
thought her ignorance so bewitching before it affected his comfort and 
well-being. 

It has been broadly hinted for a number of years that there is 
a league among house-servants which influences their extortions and 
encroachments. Whether this is so or not, it is true that liberty and 
the pursuit of happiness seem the objects of those we hire, rather than 
anxiety to give us satisfaction. Cooks advertise for situations where a 
kitchen-maid is kept; butlers, through the appropriate columns of the 


BIRD-SONG . 


569 


daily papers, express an aversion to devote their services to a family 
which keeps no under-man; and so on. 

There is resistance at first to the new departure of hiring servants 
to wait on servants, but ultimately they will carry their point by firm 
united effort, just as they have carried many another within the last 
fifty years. 

In union is strength, and the power that consolidated agreement 
gives may be the employers’ also, if at last we are driven to resist- 
ance. Most people are willing to pay good wages, and, if consistent 
with their circumstances, will hire people enough to do the work com- 
fortably ; and if servants (the word affronts those to whom it is ap- 
plied, but no other seems to embrace the class collectively) will treat 
employers fairly, the treatment will be generously returned. It is not 
comfortable in any household to have the kitchen and the parlor at 
war. 

In some cases where there is good feeling and a degree of intelli- 
gence, a plain discussion between the factions promotes a healthy feeling 
in the household ; but such cases are not very common, and there is a 
growing feeling of discomfort between hirers and hired. 

In one or two of the largest cities small clubs have been formed 
among married women whose means permit large establishments, for 
the purpose of regulating some of the trials of domestic service. A 
scale of prices is fixed upon for the domestics employed in their houses, 
and the rates decided upon are those which prevailed five years ago. 
So far as known, the applicants for situations with these ladies have 
not received the offer of reduced wages with applause, and have re- 
sented the conditions imposed, although the latter are not difficult, but 
dictated by a rational view of the wants of a household. 

It remains to be seen whether these private leagues or the more 
general attempts at organization, like the Hearthstone Club of past 
years, will ever be effectual. Probably they will not alone, but they 
may have their value in supplementing such measures as training-schools 
for servants, and the still more important education of our young 
daughters in knowledge and fitness to take the helm when, with youth 
at the prow, they embark upon the matrimonial sea. 

Mary C. Hungerford. 


BIRD-SONG . 

W HEN the first dawn-streak up the east doth steal, 
The birds outburst with all their rapturous art : 
Happy art thou if, wakening, thou canst feel 
The same melodious impulse at thy heart. 

Clinton Scollard. 


570 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 

C URIOUSLY enough, the earliest record of the existence of pave- 
ments harks back through the dim lights of antiquity to the 
empires of two queens, — Semiramis, Queen of Assyria, and Dido, the 
Phoenician princess who founded the Carthaginian empire. According 
to the records of Valerius Maximus, the paved highways throughout 
the realm of Semiramis were the first in use, but Isidorus asserts that 
the Carthaginians enjoyed the initial pavements of the world. 

Certain it is that from the latter the Romans derived their first 
knowledge of the importance of good roads, for at a time when the 
Roman kingdom had not yet given promise of its future greatness as 
an empire the people of Dido’s realm were luxuriating in marble 
mosaics for floors of dwelling-houses, and stronger materials were 
employed by them for the highways of commerce when the Cartha- 
ginians were the most important commercial nation in the world. 

But the Appian Way of Appius Claudius, the worn blocks of lava 
in the streets of Herculaneum and Pompeii, over which the Roman 
chariots rolled into the past, — all these and other European, African, or 
Asiatic highways of antiquity are not to be compared for structure or 
durability to the great roads of the Incas. These tremendous cause- 
ways, built for the passage of imperial armies from end to end of the 
realm, constructed in the face of nature’s mightiest protests, bridging 
chasms, joining mountains, tunnelling through their hearts, built from 
depth to height by sheer force of engineering skill, indicate by their 
colossal ruins to-day that the Children of the Sun were past-masters 
of the art of high-road construction. Mighty records of a race as 
these remains are, what other and mightier records might not have 
been preserved had the quipus only been supplanted by the alphabet 
at a time when the Incas were a dominant race and had a history to 
bequeath to coming generations! Had it been possible to preserve 
the historical cords, threads, and bits of string into which the records 
of the great South American nation were twisted with cabalistic mean- 
ing, we might be able to determine beyond question that at a time 
when Frenchmen and Englishmen were wallowing through next to im- 
passable roads, the practical perfection of Inca highways was further 
embellished by flowering hedges and umbrageous trees. 

The superiority of these ancient roads, constructed by so-called 
savage or barbarous nations, over those made by other and presumably 
more enlightened ones, is matter for wonderment. Even so late as the 
seventeenth century high-born dames and noble lords of Europe com- 
plained of Continental roads. Spain, thanks to a Moorish ruler, had a 
paved city, Cordova, as early as the year 850, but the city of London 
remained unpaved up to 1533. Such of the vehicles of antiquity as 
have been preserved to us in royal stables illustrate better than history 
can explain the condition of the thoroughfares over which they were 
designed to travel. These royal coaches were of fabulous weight, and 
the wonder is that any pavements could be constructed to withstand 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


571 


them, or that in the absence of any pavements whatever they could by 
any possibility be dragged through the ruts of ungraded streets. 

Good roads were the first weapons to be employed by civil authority 
against that old-time gentry who were called most appropriately knights 
of the road. Still more fitting would have been the term knights of 
bad roads, for with carriage-wheels up to the hub in mud, or exhausted 
coach-horses panting and trembling at the top of an ill-graded climb, 
every condition of road-robbery was at its best for the robbers. De- 
scriptions of these adventures invariably place them in the thick of 
timber, or in the more remote and hence least cared-for portions of 
roads, where men on horseback had an immense advantage over any 
number in a coach. The same factor which rendered escape by flight 
impossible to the innocent also put pursuit of the guilty out of the 
question : so in every way the poorer the road the greater boon it 
became to the lawless. 

Travellers in all Spanish countries will be struck by the appearance 
of small crosses set here and there along the wayside of suburban or 
country roads, indicating in a majority of cases the spot where a murder 
has been committed. In Mexico to-day whoever undertakes the journey 
by stage and mule-back from the capital to the west coast, with San 
Bias as the objective point of embarkation, does so at the peril of both 
life and limb, the one from organized banditti who infest the route, the 
other from the perilous condition of the roads, dotted here and there 
with commemorative crosses not calculated to raise the spirits of the 
passengers. There, as elsewhere, non-attention to the proper construc- 
tion and care of these important factors in the commercial development 
of nations indicates third and fourth place in the communities of the 
world. 

Tardy as the English seem to have been in realizing the necessity 
for paved streets and highways, English roads to-day and those of 
all English colonies may be cited as models of road-building. Just 
how much of an impetus this providing of easy facilities for communi- 
cation between adjoining districts not otherwise accessible has given to 
traffic and commerce it would be hard to determine. Next to the sup- 
pression of dacoits in Burmah and the establishment of law and order, 
good roads have done more to civilize that country than anything else. 
They have, in fact, gone hand in hand with civilization there and else- 
where. This is true of India, of Ceylon, of Australia, of New Zealand, 
and of the South African colonies. Even cultivation of the fields 
seems almost secondary to the opening of these great arteries along 
which the heart-throbs of a nation may pulse without obstruction. 

This is also true of France, and, so far as the writer has been able 
to judge by personal observation, in a lesser degree of French colonies. 
Old diligence roads throughout Europe, the old caminos reales of Spain, 
— who that has enjoyed those highways has not had cause to bless the 
foresight and industry which originally created them and has since 
kept them in repair ? There pedestrian tours are possible, and it is a 
significant fact that the bicycle was invented by a Frenchman and per- 
fected by an Englishman. There is no better illustration to be found 
of cause and effect than this fact : the existence of good roads created 


572 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


the desire for better personal facilities for their enjoyment by individ- 
uals, and the “ wheel” was the result. 

Many and diverse have been the means by which good causeways 
have been obtained. In some instances, where places have been espe- 
cially favored by nature, the natural soil, properly graded and drained, 
has formed the best of roadways. This is especially true of Singapore, 
which has of all cities ever seen by the writer the best average of good 
streets, formed of natural clay of a deep terra-cotta color, as beautifully 
rich in tone as the soil of central Cuba, making charming contrast to 
the luxuriant tropical foliage, and packing to a degree which renders 
them smooth and hard as a floor. Elsewhere many islands of the sea 
have ideal roads of coral reef, which in a way offer compensation to 
their inhabitants for the lonesome remoteness of their homes. These 
factors are not to be enjoyed by more favored dwellers on the conti- 
nents of the world. To them the problem of good roads becomes a 
difficult one, hard of solution and accomplishment. 

Of European cities Paris and London are popularly believed by 
travellers to furnish illustrations of the best and most practical form 
of durable pavements, with asphalt in the lead of popularity. 

Our American capital has the reputation of possessing the finest 
streets in the New World, and what was once true of the pavements 
is still true of the width of the thoroughfares. But, owing either to 
scamped foundations or to the imperfect materials employed, the 
asphalt in use there and in other American cities leaves much to be 
desired. Nor can it be claimed that any roadway which in a wet con- 
dition at once becomes a menace to horses affords a practical solution 
of the paving question. No one who knows London “ in season and 
out,” however much inclined to appreciate the luxury of pavements 
along which returning shop-girls waltz to the music of some gutter 
band, and over which rubber tires reduce the noise of wheeled traffic 
to the mere clicking of horseshoes, can with humane heart advocate 
the use of a pavement upon which the faithful slaves of man so often 
meet with accident and broken bones. 

In Australia various methods have been employed. In Sydney, 
for instance, it has been found that macadam is too often in need of 
repair, several different kinds of asphalt have been proved failures, 
and even bluestone cubes have worn out too quickly along the narrow 
streets where traffic is greatest. The municipal authorities have at last 
decided in favor of brick-shaped blocks of wood, — blue gum, spotted 
gum, blackbutt, and tallow-wood having been found best adapted to 
the purpose of all colonial hard woods. It is to be hoped that the 
residents of Sydney will not suffer in health from these decaying 
blocks as dwellers in other similarly paved cities have done. That 
wood will decay is obvious; and that any substance so porous may 
become a fructifying place for germs of disease seems equally beyond 
doubt. It has been proved that since the action of the National 
Board of Health after the epidemic of yellow fever in Memphis during 
the year 1876, when many miles of rotting wooden-block pavements 
were condemned and removed, the health average of the city has been 
greatly increased. 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


573 


llie secret of durability seems thus far to have belonged rather to 
antiquity than to modern times. Whether the composition of bitumi- 
nous cement of a sort to outlast the ages is a lo$t art or not, the fact 
remains that all pavements of the past have been most remarkable for 
the care bestowed upon their foundations. Yet in some instances, 
described by Velasco in his “Historia del Reino de Quito,” the foun- 
dations of the old Inca highways, built of solid masonry across deep 
ravines, have been worn away by the continuous chafing against them 
of mountain torrents until huge flags of freestone have been reduced 
and displaced and the ravine spanned alone by an arch of cement un- 
supported by any original foundation. Thus the composition devised 
by man has proved itself harder and more durable than the rocks made 
by nature in the slow alchemy of time. 

But to the investigator the superiority of ancient roads lies not so 
much in material as in painstaking workmanship. The old Romans 
laid their pavimentum upon foundations varying according to conditions 
of soil from two and three feet in depth to as many more as were 
required to attain the desired result. These foundations were invari- 
ably placed upon a solid bed to begin with, and consisted of stones of 
various sizes placed in layers, well packed, and cemented with lime. 
Upon these repeated layers, any one of which received greater attention 
than many a complete modern pavement, were laid large blocks of 
stone or lava, carefully and accurately fitted together to make a con- 
tinuous even surface, the whole forming a practically indestructible 
roadway, where frequent repairing was unnecessary. 

Without doubt the heavy carting and drayage of modern times have 
much to do with the perishableness of modern pavements. The hardest 
rock itself cannot long withstand the continuous grind of heavy loads 
supported upon narrow tires. To this foolish and destructive fashion 
of building carts and drays designed for the transportation of great 
weights the bulk of failure in modern pavements is due. It must be 
remembered that these celebrated roads of antiquity were never sub- 
jected to similar tests, and that the smaller the surface called upon 
to sustain great weight the less, naturally, will be the resistive power 
offered, and the greater will be the pressure upon the point of contact. 
If any one will take the trouble to ascertain the weight of an average 
load whose like is hauled by hundreds through all our chief cities 
daily, measure the width of the tire, and then figure the pressure per 
square inch to which a pavement is exposed, based upon the fraction 
of a circle which touches a straight line, he will have a better idea of 
what road-builders of the present day have to contend with. This 
width of cart-wheels and tires should be regulated by law with a view 
to municipal economy, and each commonwealth should endeavor by 
legislation to enforce honesty in the laying of foundations for every 
foot of pavement used. 

The practice of paving cities with vitrified brick is coming largely 
into favor in America, and Washington now has many Western rivals 
for the honor of being the best-paved city in the New World. Of 
the nearer West, Detroit furnishes a good illustration of the use of 
this old material. Certainly in point of antiquity the brickmaker’s 


574 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


art is one of the oldest in the world of which we have any record. 
According to biblical tradition, this industry was the cause of the curse 
of many languages \Yhich fell upon the children of Noah, for 

“ It came to pass, as they journeyed from the east, that they found 
a plain in the land of Shinar; and they dwelt there. And they said 
one to another, Go to, let us make brick, and burn them throughly. 
And they had brick for stone, and slime had they for mortar. And 
they said, Go to, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may 
reach unto heaven ; and let us make us a name, lest we be scattered 
abroad upon the face of the whole earth. And the Lord came down 
to see the city and the tower which the children of men builded. And 
the Lord said, Behold, the people is one, and they have all one lan- 
guage; and this they begin to do: and now nothing will be restrained 
from them which they have imagined to do. Go to, let us go down, 
and there confound their language, that they may not understand one 
another’s speech. So the Lord scattered them abroad from thence 
upon the face of all the earth : and they left off to build the city. 
Therefore is the name of it called Babel ; because the Lord did there 
confound the language of all the earth ; and from thence did the Lord 
scatter them abroad upon the face of all the earth.” (Genesis xi. 2-9.) 

Herodotus records an inscription formerly found upon one of the 
pyramids of Egypt in the vicinity of Cairo : “ Do not undervalue me 
by comparing me with the pyramids of stone. For I am better than 
they, as Jove exceeds the other deities. I am made of bricks from 
clay brought up from the bottom of the lake adhering to poles.” 
According to Pliny, bricks made by the Greeks were sometimes 
seasoned for five years before being used, when some of the finest of 
ancient buildings were constructed of them. Croesus himself ordered 
his palaces to be made of brick, and some of the temples of Athens were 
built of the same material. That the Romans also practised the art of 
brickmaking is beyond question, with what success may be judged from 
the ruins of many walls still standing in Northern Europe and Eng- 
land, while the bricks in the baths of Titus and Caracalla have proved 
more durable than the stones of the Colosseum itself. Away over in 
Nepaul ornamental bricks especially adapted for architectural purposes 
are manufactured, while the Chinese claim to have discovered the 
process of glazing. Holland has long been celebrated for the quality 
and imperishable nature of its bricks, both for dwellings and high- 
roads, and the practicability of brick pavements has been demonstrated 
by the Dutch for generations. 

Reading the signs of the times, vitrified clays are to form the chief 
factors of the future for paving purposes. It is essential in any climate 
that the material thus exposed to all kinds of weather should not be 
affected by it, should be impervious to moisture, should not be softened 
by extreme heat nor crumbled by extreme cold. Cheap to manufacture 
and to lay, easily cleaned, readily replaced if broken, absolutely non- 
absorbent, and therefore free from those dangerous elements which 
jeopardize the health of crowded communities, smooth, and yet afford- 
ing easy footing for horses, there is much to be said in favor of paving- 
bricks. 


THE HIGHWAYS OF THE WORLD. 


575 


All things considered, — youth and overgrowth, inexperience and 
carelessness, and, in the majority of cases, lack of opportunity to judge 
by comparison, — the United States have kept reasonable pace with other 
nations in the matter of roadways. There is an appalling territory to 
be covered, beside which the establishing of good roads in European 
countries seems like child’s play. One of the chief troubles in America 
has been the rapid development of our tremendous railway system, 
which has absorbed the time, attention, and capital of men and com- 
panies who have given thought to conditions of communications between 
districts. Far-reaching and essential as this mode of conveyance is, it 
must be remembered that the finest railroad in the world in no way 
lessens the local need of good roads in the communities through which 
it passes. 

While one naturally expects to find the greatest degree of comfort 
in these matters in the oldest settlements, it is a fact beyond dispute 
that the younger cities of the West are far better paved than Eastern 
cities generations older, while country roads in populous districts 
average as good. In no other matter do men so easily reconcile them- 
selves to indifferent and inefficient service. The amount of discomfort 
endured daily in cities paved with granite blocks, for instance, is past 
computation. Irregular of surface, noisy, dusty, dirty, hard alike on 
horse and on vehicle, this barbarous system has had but one merit to 
recommend it : it is durable. Considering its manifold discomforts, 
this is rather a fault than a virtue. Other materials are durable, 
cleaner, more comfortable in every respect, and yet are vigorously 
fought against by partisans of granite blocks, who are jounced about 
in carriages and deafened by noise without realizing the degree of dis- 
comfort to which they subject themselves. No sane man would elect 
to wear a hair-cloth shirt because it was durable and seldom required 
change, for he would consider the many forms of creature comfort 
sacrificed to this sort of economy. Yet few people seem to realize 
that granite pavements are the hair shirts of communities, and that 
the day for mortifying the flesh has long gone past in civilized 
countries. 

Good thoroughfares, like charity, should begin at home. On the 
day when each commonwealth, after careful investigation and satisfac- 
tory tests, unbiassed by bribery, preferment, or political affinity and 
reward, compels by act of law the laying of whatever form of paving 
has been demonstrated as best for city and country use, — on that day 
the millennium may be descried approaching. Then the American 
tally-ho coach will exist with reason, because of (and not despite the 
lack of) fitting roads along which to roll its picturesque expense. 
Parties planning pedestrian tours will not have to cross the seas to find 
a starting-point for their itinerary ; country homes will be more sought 
for and more enjoyed ; and the native American will begin to form an 
acquaintance with the undreamed-of beauties of his own land, based 
upon something besides snap-shot glimpses from a railroad train, and 
deepened into an interest and admiration made possible only through 
the intimacy begotten of good roads. 


Marion Manville Pope. 


576 


HOW THEY DIFFER. 


HOW THEY DIFFER. 

M AN is a creature of cast-iron habits; woman adapts herself to 
circumstances ; this is the foundation of the moral difference 
between them. 

A man does not attempt to drive a nail unless he has a hammer ; a 
woman does not hesitate to utilize anything, from the heel of a boot to 
the back of a brush. 

A man considers a corkscrew absolutely necessary to open a bottle ; 
a woman attempts to extract the cork with the scissors; if she does 
not succeed readily, she pushes the cork into the bottle, since the essen- 
tial thing is to get at the fluid. 

Shaving is the only use to which a man puts a razor ; a woman 
employs it for a chiropodist’s purposes. 

When a man writes, everything must be in apple-pie order ; pen, 
paper, and ink must be just so, and a profound silence must reign 
while he accomplishes this important function. A woman gets any 
sheet of paper, tears it perhaps from a book or a portfolio, sharpens 
a pencil with the scissors, puts the paper on an old atlas, crosses her 
feet, balances herself on her chair, and confides her thoughts to paper, 
changing from pencil to pen and vice versa from time to time, nor 
does she care if the children romp or the cook comes to speak to her. 

A man storms if the blotting-paper is not conveniently near ; a 
woman dries the ink by blowing on it, waving the paper in the air, or 
holding it near a lamp or a fire. 

A man drops a letter unhesitatingly in the box ; a woman rereads 
the address, assures herself that the envelope is sealed, the stamp secure, 
and then throws it violently into the box. 

A man can cut a book only with a paper-cutter ; a woman deftly 
inserts a hairpin and the book is cut. 

For a man “ good-by” signifies the end of a conversation and the 
moment of his departure ; for a woman it is the beginning of a new 
chapter, for it is just when they are taking leave of each other that 
women think of the most important topics of conversation. 

A woman ransacks her brain trying to mend a broken object ; a man 
puts it aside and forgets that for which there is no remedy. 

Which is the superior? 


Minnie J. Conrad . 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


577 


iBooftS of tlje iRonffi. 


The Elements of Modern Chemistry is a text-book which has 
become essential to the student of that science. It is there- 
fore necessary that it should undergo constant revision to 
bring it into touch with the latest developments in a daily- 
changing department of learning. The value of the work 
is due in large measure to its original thoroughness. It 
came from the pen of one of the most famous of modern 
chemists, whose writings are recognized as authorities 
throughout the civilized world. But even this high and 
original character would not suffice to make the work reflect 
the new light constantly streaming in from all learned bodies and individual 
investigators, and it has required the constant supervision of two able American 
followers of Wurtz to maintain the standards laid down by him. Dr. William 
H. Greene, the first translator, has now associated with himself his successor at 
the Philadelphia High School, Dr. Harry F. Keller, and the present — fifth — 
edition has been carefully prepared by the combined experience of these two 
alert and learned specialists in chemistry. The book has been embellished by 
many new cuts, and is substantially presented by its publishers, the Lippincotts, 
in a new and appropriate dress adapted to its aims as distinctly a student’s 
volume. 


Elements of Modern 
Chemistry. By 
Charles Adolph 

Wurtz. Fifth 
American Edition. 
Revised and En- 
larged by William 
H. Greene, M.D , 
and Harry F. Kel- 
ler, Ph.D. (Stras- 
bourg). 


Turning on the 
Light. A Dispas- 
sionate Survey of 
President Buch- 
anan’s Adminis- 
tration. By Hora- 
tio King, Ex-Post- 
master-General. 


It is a rare occurrence for history to be written by one of 
the principal factors on its stage more than a generation 
after it has been made. The lives of men do not often 
cover the long period necessary, and there are few who have 
acted that are also gifted as narrators. But in the person 
of the Hon. Horatio King these qualities are balanced 
with singular felicity, and his substantial volume, Turning 
on the Light , just from the Lippincott press, is hence a book 
which will outlast very much of the ephemeral and unauthentic writing about 
the late war which has appeared during the last decade. 

The venerable Horatio King, whose dignified portrait precedes the text, 
was the Postmaster-General at the close of President Buchanan’s administra- 
tion. He had passed through many departments of the post-office, and by un- 
swerving integrity and marked ability had won the high post to which he was 
called at a most trying period. During all the bitter days which led up to the 
firing on Fort Sumter he endeavored with unceasing courage, energy, and elo- 
quence to stem the tide which was setting in toward rebellion, and his letters 
of exhortation to influential men North and South are here reprinted, showing 
the fervor of a true patriot. 

The volume is, how r ever, dedicated to the loyal service of President Buch- 
anan, who, Mr. King believes, has been greatly misjudged and unduly ma- 
ligned by those who could not know or could not understand his motives. In 
the chapters entitled The Doctrine of Coercion ; Why was not the Rebellion 
Crushed at the Start? and The Genesis of the Civil War, Mr. King has dealt at 
length with the pros and cons of President Buchanan’s conduct, and in the 
Vol. LYI— 37 


578 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


latter chapter especially he has, in the words of his colleague General Holt, 
“ exhausted the subject.” This is not the place for a r'esume of the vexed 
questions involved, but we submit to all impartial readers the Ex-Postmaster- 
General's exposition of some of the most momentous events in our history, with 
the assurance that his facts and arguments will dissolve what has become in 
some quarters an unyielding prejudice. 

The volume is prefaced with a well-written biographical sketch of Horatio 
King, by his son, General Horatio C. King, of Brooklyn, and, besides the historic 
data, which are of untold value, there are some chapters on the Penalty Envelope, 
of which Mr. King was the inventor ; on President Lincoln ; on Daniel Webster, 
with specimens of his verse ; on a visit to Sir Rowland Hill and the Origin of 
Penny Postage, and on the national song The Star-Spangled Banner and how 
it came to be written. Several excellent poems by Mr. King are also included, 
and the interesting volume of four hundred pages closes with a charming paper 
on Queen Victoria. 

A H d Bo k of ^hat a new e dition of Dr. Sadtler’s Hand-Book of Industrial 
industrial Organic Organic Chemistry should be called for eagerly by the various 
Chemistry. By trades to which it contributes advice and information is 
Samuel p. Sadtier, sufficient evidence of its utility, and to this factor belongs 
tion eC ° n l " S rea f success. Its aim is to supply the actual handi- 
craftsman with experience in the higher knowledge of 
chemistry which his education has lacked, and in this aim it has so happily 
balanced the technical with the practical as to occupy a field up to its time 
entirely unfulfilled. 

For ease of reference the work is divided into departments, and under each 
of these there are the fullest data on raw materials, processes of manufacture, 
products and their analysis, the detection of impurities, and statistics, while 
each section has its bibliography, of invaluable service to the busy operative in 
any sort of fibres or organic materials. 

Though the first edition of Dr. Sadtler’s book has been exhausted for some 
time, the German translation has been supplying industrial establishments in 
Europe ; but the present edition has been worked over carefully and brought 
thoroughly up to date, so that the demand may now be supplied by a volume 
which does credit both to its publishers, the J. B. Lippincott Company, and to 
its author, who, besides being Professor of Organic and Industrial Chemistry in 
the University of Pennsylvania and in the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy, 
is a Fellow of the Chemical Societies of both London and Berlin. 

At the close of a long era of unusual interest in the great 
Napoleon, it is very fitting that a new issue of the all-im- 
portant papers by Sir Thomas Ussher and John R. Glover 
should be offered, as in the handsome volume before us, 
published by the J. B. Lippincott Company in combination 
with T. Fisher Unwin, of London. 

These diaries give us some of the most intimate biographical data which 
have ever been printed upon the most commanding figure of modern history. 

Sir Thomas Ussher, R.N., K.C.B., was, in April, 1814, the intrepid com- 
mander of the British man-of-war Undaunted, cruising near Marseilles. He 
here received instructions to convey Napoleon, who had just abdicated, to his 
exile in the Isle of Elba, and during all this voyage the gallant captain was 


Napoleon’s Last 
Voyages. By Sir 
Thomas Ussher and 
John R. Glover. Il- 
lustrated. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


579 


made much of by the ex-Emperor and taken greatly into his confidence, even 
on so delicate a subject as the proposed invasion of England. Captain Ussher 
set down in the straightforward phrase characteristic of a bluff man-of-war’s- 
man the substance of their many conversations, and with his keen eye and 
keener pen noted the salient traits of the mighty fallen, which are here pre- 
served for us as a fascinating and valuable record. 

The other narrative recounts with similar fidelity the passage of Napoleon 
on the British ship Northumberland to St. Helena, his final place of exile. It 
is by an eye-witness who possessed a keen penetration and an able faculty of 
statement, and there is nothing, we venture to say, in all biography at once so 
tragic and so pathetic as this faithful account of the downfall of the great con- 
queror. 

Those who have followed the fortunes of the New Napoleon — for so he 
may well be called after the recent revelations of his private character — through 
M6neval, Pasquier, Masson, and the other memoirs, will find it essential, as a 
climax to that wonderful story, to peruse these admirable diaries which lead up 
to the close. 

The illustrations are from authentic portraits and views, and are very 
valuable in their presentation of the fallen hero at their date. 


Medical Diagnosis 
with Special Refer- 
ence to Practical 
Medicine. By J. M. 
Da Costa, M.D., 
LL.D. Eighth Edi- 
tion. 


The long-established reputation of Dr. J. M. Da Costa’s 
Medical Diagnosis makes it quite unnecessary to dwell upon 
its merits. It is known throughout the medical world as 
an indispensable standard. Were proof needed of this, 
the new translation into Italian following translations into 
many other European languages would be ample. 

The J. B. Lippincott Company, publishers of this 
work, have found it needful to issue another — the eighth — edition, and Dr. 
Da Costa has therefore revised the volume thoroughly, bringing it into touch 
with the most recent discoveries in this field. He has endeavored to incorporate 
whatever of bacteriological interest appeared to be established as valuable for 
diagnostic purposes, and has introduced a number of additional wood-cuts and 
temperature-charts, taken from cases actually observed, which will be found of 
uncommon importance. Even possessors of previous editions will feel that they 
can ill afford to be without this contemporary issue of a book essential to all 
medical libraries. 


Following this author’s well-known volume, A Practical 
Treatise on Diseases of the Skin , the present more compre- 
hensive work is intended at once to cover a wider field and 
to bring the subject within the radius of discoveries lately 
made. In Cutaneous Medicine (Lippincott) Dr. Louis A. 
Duhring has focussed the experience of thirty years’ devo- 
tion to his specialty, and he has demonstrated that this 
branch of medical science deserves the most intelligent and thorough study on 
the part of those who would equip themselves for the practice of medicine, 
whether general or special. He asserts that “ When the skin is carefully in- 
vestigated, and when the signs with which it is marked by disease are properly 
interpreted, in many instances most valuable general information is yielded to 
the clinician as well as to the pathologist.” 

Marked attention has been bestowed in this new volume on the physiology 


Cutaneous Medi- 
cine. A Systematic 
Treatise on the Dis- 
eases of the Skin. 
By Louis A. Duh- 
ring, M.D. 


580 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


and anatomy, the general etiology and pathology of the skin, which Dr. Duhring 
deems the foundation-stones of Dermatology. But the most valued feature of 
this, as of all kindred works, is the comparative knowledge drawn from actual 
experience in the hospital, dispensary, and private practice. Every novice 
looks to winning this by long-enduring patience and careful observation, and 
these should by no means be relaxed in any case ; but when their place is 
so ably supplied by a physician who is at once an able writer, as in the present 
case, it is the part of wisdom to obtain and put to use the fruits thus brought 
within reach. 

The work is published in two parts, of which that under notice is Part I. 
This deals with Anatomy of the Skin, Physiology of the Skin, General Symp- 
tomatology, General Etiology, General Pathology, General Diagnosis, General 
Treatment, and General Prognosis. Part II. is announced to follow in a short 
time. 


With the general adoption of the germ theory of disease 
Disinfection and the subject of disinfection becomes one of new and pressing 
SamueY^^Ridear importance. The older methods of cleansing impurities 
D.Sc. (Lond.). ' from infected objects were naturally applied in ignorance 
of the origin and action of the germ ; but in the light given 
by later science the microscopic enemy can be found and definitely destroyed 
by the intelligent application of the right antiseptic. 

Dedicated to the service of those who .would thus deal intelligently with 
such chemical aids to cleanliness, Dr. Samuel Rideal’s book, Disinfection and 
Disinfectants , just issued by the J. B. Lippincott Company, will be found of 
invaluable aid to laymen and students alike. The author is a member of many 
learned bodies in Europe, and this subject is one on which he is thoroughly in 
earnest and entirely proficient. He begins with a history of disinfectants, and 
goes forward into an exhaustive analysis of their composition, application, and 
utilities. Separate departments of his work deal with Mechanical Disinfection, 
Disinfection by Heat, Chemical Disinfectants, Metallic Salts, Organic Sub- 
stances, Methods, Personal and Internal Disinfection, Food Preservation, and 
Legal Statutes and Regulations. A full bibliography adds value to the book, 
and an index completes it. 

As there does not appear to be any other work devoted to disinfection in so 
comprehensive a manner, Dr. Rideal’s book will take its deserved place at once 
as a standard. 


A tale that shifts between France and England is this latest 
B^G^t^d^War nove ^ Gertrude Warden, and the authoress knows as 

de y n well the bohemian life of France as she does the domestic 

life of England. Her Fairy Prince , newly put forth by the 
J. B. Lippincott Company in a seemly cover and good type, is a story of unique 
plot which will give a fillip to the most jaded taste in fiction. It recounts the 
adventures of Mr. Wallace Armstrong, dissolute, reckless, and handsome, who 
has no prospects in life saving by sufferance of a rich uncle, and of Captain 
Garth, who is older in years and in sin, and whose one redeeming possession is 
his beautiful daughter of sixteen, Laline. In order to extort money from his 
uncle, Armstrong attempts to deceive him by pretending to be married to a 
lovely but poor girl, and to this ruse his childless relative succumbs, inviting 
him to go to England with his wife, and make his home in his house. The 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


581 


uncle also expresses an intention of settling three hundred pounds a year upon 
the wife, and encloses money for the journey. The temptation thus put forth is 
too great for Garth and Armstrong. They resolve to embrace the chance to the 
mutual betterment of their fortunes. Armstrong therefore marries the young 
and innocent Laline, and all is going well until the precious pair of rascals fall 
out. Laline runs away to escape them, and the whole unworthy fraud is over- 
thrown. But just here Laline’s real troubles begin. She is cast adrift, and goes 
to England, where she eventually encounters her husband, who does not know 
her. The aim of the excellent plot is to unravel this complication, and that 
the author is an entire mistress of her art will be acknowledged by those who 
are fortunate enough to follow the windings of the tale to the end. 

So often have we devoured the novels of the Duchess, so 
Sh^t^t 03 ^ 111 ^ many tedious hours have they beguiled for us with their 

TheDuchess!* 7 lively gossip, that we are grown quite familiar with them 
and look for them as we do for the fruits of summer, with 
a keen anticipation. But in the field of the short story The Duchess has rarely 
appeared, and readers scarcely recognize her great merits in this difficult branch 
of tale-telling. 

The J. B. Lippincott Company has been fortunate enough to secure a pretty 
book-full of short tales by her grace The Duchess, and has named it after the 
initial story, Molly Darling. These will be a revelation to even the habitual 
follower of this gifted authoress, for the light, brilliant sketches compress into a 
few pages all the fervor, gayety, saucy coquetry, and womanly charm which we 
are accustomed to find dilated into a full novel. They are just the needed 
stimulant for a lazy evening or an hour out-of-doors, and will lend themselves 
admirably to reading aloud. The little book in which they are so deftly placed 
seems ordained in daintiness of type and in shape for the special office of holding 
their charms. 


For refinement of language, delicacy of color, and high- 
a Weddingr, and b re d manners, commend us to Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger, 
Julien Gordon By w ^° known on both sides of the sea as Julien Gordon. 

She is a type of the genuine American woman of fashion, 
but has achieved withal the far worthier title of woman of letters, and this 
each of her books, as it comes forth, the more fully confirms. 

The last of these is A Wedding , and Other Stories , the other stories being The 
First Flight, Morning Mists, Conquered, Raking Straws, The Moujik. All of 
these, saving the last brief pastel, deal with the life of our American cities and 
suburbs, — life at the high tension set by wealth, education, and ambition. 
They are love-stories pushed, as is usually the case with this authoress, to the 
verge where sentiment enters into the realm of passion ; and Mrs. Cruger 
handles the delicate situations thus created with the firmness of one who knows 
all the emotions that accompany the modern versions of love. 

The first story is illustrative of the treatment of the rest, though there is 
a fresh motive in each one. It deals charmingly with the love of a homely, 
middle-aged Jewish music-teacher, who has noble sentiments in his ill-covered 
soul for his wealthy and beautiful young pupil, who becomes the Baroness von 
Staube. Her husband is the typical seeker of an American heiress, but the 
snuffy and greasy old pianist is the real lover, and on her wedding-day she 
comes to know it with a new and deep thrill. 


582 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


The volume is bound uniformly with Poppsea, recently published by the 
same house, J. B. Lippincott Company, and is a handsome addition to Mrs. 
Cruger’s growing works. 

It has devolved, so far as we know, upon an American, 
and a Philadelphian, to produce the best romance of the 
Fran co-Prussian War which has yet appeared. That the 
material for such a creation was abundant is rendered plain 
enough by the tales of Daudet, Zola, and other Frenchmen, 
but not until this strong and vivid novel, An American 
in Paris (Lippincott), from the pen of Dr. Savidge, was 
given to the public have the pathos, picturesqueness, and powerful character- 
ization to which that war especially lends itself been fully demonstrated. 

Kent, a young Californian attached to the American Embassy in Paris, and 
Hortense, a maid-in-waiting to Eugenie, are the symbols, so to speak, of the 
ideals which underlie the war. Kent has been educated in the freedom of the 
West, Hortense in the license of the French court, and like an undersong their 
love-making, in which Kent’s better instincts gradually degenerate under her 
subtle influences, accompanies the downfall of Louis Napoleon’s dynasty. Kent 
stands for the “ American idea,” and comes out whole at last; Hortense typifies 
the old regime of “ the average sensual man,” and finally falls ; yet these char- 
acters which seem so subtly allegorical are entirely objective, and their love- 
story is fascinating and most absorbing. 

At the base of the tale are, of course, the stirring events of the war, Sedan, 
the surrender, the bombardment of Paris, the famine, and the Commune, and 
these are touched in with so masterful a pen that the picture has the reality 
of fact rather than the formal tone of the statements of history. Bismarck, 
King William, Napoleon III., Eug6nie, Moltke, Washburne, Sheridan, Thiers, 
Favre, and all the rest, major and minor, are made to live over again the tragic 
episodes in which they took part, and it does not seem an exaggeration to assert 
that no better review of the war could be had than this from a writer who has 
been an unbounded reader and who knows the subject he deals with as clearly 
as his own experience. 

We predict a wide popularity for this uncommon novel, following as it does 
in the wake of, and in a manner rounding out to its ultimate conclusion, the 
singular mania of Napoleonism which is now passing over the world of readers. 


The American in 
Paris. A Biograph- 
ical Novel of the 
Franco- Prussian 
War. By Eugene 
Coleman Savidge. 


Sermons by the 
Rev. John R. War- 
ner, D.D., with a 
Sketch of his Life 
by his Daughter, 
Mary Warner 
Moore. 


The sermons of the Rev. John R. Warner, D.D., delivered 
from his pulpit in the Presbyterian Church of Kirkwood, 
Missouri, and at his earlier charge in Gettysburg, Penn- 
sylvania, are full of the spirit of practical piety which gave 
impulse to his noble life, and they will appeal to all who 
need the quiet aid of a religious counsellor and wise friend. 

The episode of Dr. Warner’s life in Gettysburg during the 
battle is told at length in the introduction, and gives a typical view of the 
feelings of those who remained in the town during the fight. Dr. Warner sub- 
sequently prepared a lecture upon his war experiences, which was delivered 
throughout the country. 

This volume is an enduring monument to its subject, and is put forth in 
an appropriate manner by the J. B. Lippincott Company, its publishers. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


583 



F REE from alum and every unwholesome 
ingredient. Most highly refined of all 
the baking powders. Its sale of 40,000,000 
cans a year (more than all other cream of 
tartar baking powders combined) attests 
its wonderful popularity and usefulness. 


ROYAL BAKING POWDER CO., 106 WALL ST.. NEW-YORK. 



584 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Baron Dowse once was judge where the accused could understand only 
Irish, and an interpreter was accordingly sworn. The prisoner said something 
to the interpreter, and the latter replied. 

“ What does he say?” demanded the judge. 

“ Nothing, my lord.” 

“ How dare you say that, when we all heard him ? Come, sir, what 
was it?” 

“ My lord,” said the interpreter, beginning to tremble, “ it had nothing to 
do with the case.” 

“If you don’t answer I’ll commit you, sir. Now what did he say?” 

“Well, my lord, you’ll excuse me, but he said, ‘ Who’s that ould woman 
with the red bed-curtain round her, sitting up there?’ ” 

At which the court roared. 

“ And what did you say ?” asked the baron, looking a little uncomfortable. 

“ I said, ‘ Whist, ye spalpeen ! That’s the old boy that’s going to hang 
yez !’ ” 

The Cow and the Loaded Watermelon. — Not long ago, when the 
mercury down at Ocala, Florida, was climbing near the top of the tube, two 
young men decided to agreeably surprise their young lady friends by a treat of 
iced watermelon for dinner. After studying over the matter awhile they decided 
that an ice-cold melon was not good enough, — did not begin to show their ap- 
preciation of the young ladies : so they went down into their pockets, and 
purchased two bottles of the finest claret in the city, emptied them into the 
melon, then sent it to the hotel with instructions to place it in a cool place. 

This was done, and all would have been well had not the hotel folks de- 
cided to treat the guests to a fine melon the same day. The rich, wine-filled 
melon lay side by side with the melon flavored only by nature, and yet the 
sameness on the outside remained undisturbed. At the proper time the colored 
factotum was ordered to prepare the hotel melon for the table. (No one except 
the young men knew anything about the wine being put in the melon.) As 
soon as the knife laid the melon open the peculiar odor satisfied the waiter that 
it was spoiled. A brief consultation was held, and the unanimous verdict was 
that it was no good. It was taken out and placed in the cow lot, where a mild- 
eyed Jersey lay dreaming the hours away. The bovine, knowing a good thing 
when she saw it, was soon on the outside of the melon, wine and all. 

Now, two quarts of wine is a pretty stiff* drink, even for a cow, and it soon 
began to tell on her, and for a time she made things lively, trying to stand on 
her head, kicking her heels, trying to waltz, tugging at the fence with her horns, 
and acting as if she was half crazy to paint the town red in her own way. 
Finally the heavy debauch proved too much for her. She took the hiccoughs, 
staggered around awhile, fell down, and began snoring. Since then she has re- 
fused to eat plain melon. — The Capitol. 

The Company’s Point of View. — “Here’s a choice bull,” exclaimed a 
railroad man who was looking over a lot of old printed rules and regulations 
which were piled on his desk at the Union depot. He pointed to a card of 
regulations for public information issued by the Wells-Fargo Express Company 
in the early fifties. The last regulation read, “ This company will not be 
responsible for any loss or damage occasioned by fire, the acts of God, or of 
Indians, or any other public enemies of the government .” — Kansas City Times. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


585 



LET THE 

SUN 

INTO YOUR. 
BUILDINGS 
and scour f hem 


vv 


itK 


APOLIO 


Colleges.ffospitals, 
Asylums and all 
Public Institutions 
* find SAPOLIO useful 
Hs cleansing is thorough 
and vei^ quickly done. 



If is & solid handsome cake of 
scouring soap which has no equal 
for all cleaning purposes excephin 
the laundryTo use it* is 1*0 value it*- 


What will SAPOLIO do ? Why it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, 
and give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. It will take the 
grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. You can scour the knives and 
forks with it, and make the tin things shine brightly. The wash-basin, the 
bath-tub, even the greasy kitchen 6ink will be as clean as a new pin if you use 
SAPOLIO. One cake will prove all we say. Be a clever housekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. THERE IS BUT ONE SAPOLIO. 

ENOCH MORGAN’S SONS CO., NEW YORK. 




586 


CURRENT NOTES. 


India, for the Indians. — The question is, which Indians? People forget 
that “in many respects the Punjabi Mohammedan and the Bengali, the Sikh 
and the Madrasi, the Pathan and the Mahratta, are more widely separated in 
feelings and ideas than are the English and Russians, the French and Germans, 
or the Italians and Norwegians.” 

A Madras native gentleman was once asked by Lord Roberts what he 
thought of “ India for the Indians.” He replied, “ Go to the Zoological Gardens 
and open all the cages ; you will then see what would be the end of India for 
the Indians. There would be a grand fight among all the animals, with the result 
that the tiger would walk over the dead bodies of the rest.” On being asked 
whom he meant by the tiger, he replied, “ The Mohammedan from the North.” 

The moral of this allegory of my friend— who was certainly one of the 
most enlightened native gentlemen I have ever met with — was that India could 
not be left to herself, and that a supreme power was necessary to hold together 
the varied and various races. 

That little story is worth a hundred ponderous diatribes of the kind usually 
indulged in by retired Anglo-Indians, who seem to grow dull in their bewilder- 
ment at the idea of the ryot going to the polls “ in his myriads” to vote for a 
“social purity” programme . — The Spectator. 

Penalties for Russian Duellists. — A new decree of the Russian Min- 
ister of Justice ordains that in future a duellist who kills his antagonist will be 
liable to six years’ imprisonment, and for the infliction of more or less serious 
wounds to three years’ imprisonment. For duellists who have fought without 
wounding each other, six months’ arrest is apportioned. Any person proved 
guilty of endeavoring to provoke a duel may be punished with from six weeks’ 
to three months’ arrest and a fine of one hundred rubles. A lesser punishment 
is reserved for any persons acting as seconds. The Czar is personally very 
strongly opposed to the practice of duelling under any circumstances, and it is 
understood that two or three fatal encounters which took place in St. Petersburg 
last year were the primary cause of the issuing of the new edict . — London Daily 
News. 

English Not Wanted on Helgoland. — Helgoland has been ruined as 
a "watering-place by its cession to Germany, and the splendid kurhaus and bath- 
house which have recently been built are quite empty. Only “ cheap-trippers” 
now visit the island, which has been abandoned by the princes, nobles, and 
merchants who used to come regularly every summer and stay for weeks to- 
gether. The immense fortifications which have been constructed have quite 
altered the island, which, moreover, now swarms with artillerymen, and officers 
belonging to every branch of the army are constantly coming and going. 

When Helgoland was given over to Germany by Lord Salisbury, it was an- 
nounced by the Tory papers that the rights of those of the inhabitants who 
might choose to remain British had been thoroughly safeguarded ; but this as- 
surance has proved to be a perfect flim-flam. Any one who declared for remaining 
British was prevented from plying with boats, which practically meant ruin. 
Then a poll-tax of one hundred and twenty marks a year was imposed on the 
Britons, and finally they were ordered to be officially described as foreigners, 
which meant that they were deprived of the right to acquire or own property 
on the island . — London Truth. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


587 



LUNDBORG 
PERFUME 


A true and lasting Violet in the handsomest package on 
the market. PR i C e, $1.75 per bottle. 

For Sale by Dealers or will be sent on receipt of price by 

LADD & Coffin, 24 Barclay St., New York. 




588 


CURRENT NOTES. 


There is no better magazine for wives and mothers than Good House- 
keeping, Springfield, Mass. It has made a big success in all of its depart- 
ments, but its 50,000 readers are delighted with the series of anagrams which 
it has been publishing. In its September issue there will be one on 200 popular 
advertisers and advertisements, with a series of valuable prizes. The publishers 
will send a sample copy containing particulars for 20 cents. 


Captain Marryat. — How much of Captain Marryat’s somewhat tumul- 
tuous and checkered career is embodied in his novels it is now difficult to as- 
certain, and it would perhaps be unwise to inquire too closely into the subject; 
but an officer who sailed with Lord Cochrane in the Imp6rieuse and took part in 
many of the actions so graphically related in “ The Autobiography of a Seaman” 
had a wealth of personal experience on which to draw, and could be content 
with the flimsiest plot in constructing his novels, so strong is the taste of salt 
and adventure which they leave on the palate. 

Marryat’s novels are, indeed, often little more than history in disguise. 
Take, for example, the escape of O’Brien and Peter Simple from the French 
prison, the details of which are almost literally borrowed from the published 
adventures of a Captain O’Brien, whose repeated and eventually successful 
attempts to escape from various French fortresses, in which, while yet a mid- 
shipman, he was confined as a prisoner of war, caused Napoleon to remark that 
the Irish aspirants gave him more trouble than all his other prisoners. 

Rough and coarse as life afloat was then, and, indeed, ashore too, there is 
a healthy tone in almost all Marryat’s works, and so great has been their in- 
fluence over the rising generation for many years that few grown men can look 
at the Blue Posts or walk along the Hard at Portsmouth without thinking of 
Peter Simple, or see Nix Mangiare Stairs at Malta without recalling the ad- 
ventures of Easy and Gascoigne and their famous cruise in the speronare. — Mac- 
millan's Magazine. 

Men Ousted for Deer and Grouse. — Great and universal offence has 
been given in the north by the Duke of Fife, by a very arrogant speech which 
he delivered at Elgin the other day, in which he advised all the young men of 
the country to emigrate. Surely the depopulation of the Highlands has been 
proceeding fast enough to suit even the proprietor of Mar Forest, wherein nearly 
one hundred thousand acres are set apart for the exclusive occupation of red 
deer. The Duke of Fife and his predecessors have been always prominent on 
the black-list of those Highland landlords who have steadily discouraged agri- 
culture in the interest of grouse and deer . — London Truth. 

Arousing a Chaplain. — It was in the Kansas legislature of 1891 that 
Speaker Elder had trouble with the Alliance chaplain. This individual always 
opened the work of law-making with a prayer. 

One particular morning he had fallen asleep over in a corner. Elder 
wanted to begin business in a hurry, but the chaplain could not be found. 

“ Where’s that chaplain ?” he growled. 

Finally he found him. He shook him vigorously, and exclaimed, in a 
voice that could be heard a block away, “ Get up there and do your praying, 
you lunkhead, and be quick about it, too ."—Chicago Inter-Ocean. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


589 


Strength — weakness 

It is one thing not to be poor and another thing to 
be rich. It is one thing not to be a coward, and another 
thing to be a hero. It is one thing not to be weak, and 
another, and a much finer thing, to be strong. 

The virtue of a man is in the splendid thing that he 
is, and not in the unsatisfactory thing that he is not. 

To be strong is to have no ache, no pain, to laugh 
at difficulty, to challenge rivalry — victory before the fight 
begins. It is to have life, and to enjoy life, abundantly. 
For all not strong people nature has provided the means 
of strength. For two centuries the doctors have said 
that the way to get and keep strong is to have a proper 
reserve force, that the best builder of reserve force is 
the oil the codfish stores up in its liver. We accept the 
testimony of two hundred years and prepare the cod- 
liver oil in the form of Scott’s Emulsion, which is 
the best form in which it can most easily and quickly 
be converted into fat and strength. 

And to help in the building up of the whole body 
we add the hypophosphites of lime and soda, which 
quickens the nerve force and restores vigor to the entire 
System. 5q cen ts and $1.00 

SCOTT & BOWNE 

Chemists, = - New York 


590 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Light of the Harem.— On the upper deck of the steamer we had a 
veritable Light of the Harem, walking about with her podgy broad feet and 
large dogskin gloves. She was a little powdered woman with blackened eyes, 
dressed in a fashionable dark-blue cloak, and round her French hat and slightly 
covering the lower part of her face was a white pretence at a yashmaJc. 

She strolled the deck unsteadily, clutching a French novel, and is, I believe, 
the latest example of the emancipated female of the East ; Fatmeh who has 
been at a boarding-school in the Champs-Elys6es ; Fatmeh, in short, up to date. 
I fancy she had been paying a visit in Cairo and was on her way home to Con- 
stantinople. I took possession inadvertently of her chaise longue , out of which 
the attendant Mesrour, in a tarboosh and a dingy tweed suit, promptly turned 
me. Then he affixed on it an ordinary visiting-card bearing the magic in- 
scription “ Mme. Beshmy Pacha.” — The Cornhill Magazine. 

A Fifteen-Thousand-Dollar Gravel Path. — The gorgeous tales of 
Oriental splendor tell of pathways strewn with gold dust to be trodden by the 
sacred feet of royalty, and diamonds are the conventional paving-material for 
the promenade of the princes in the fairy-tale. It has been left to a St. Louis 
business man to construct a gravel walk — neither long nor strikingly beautiful 
— that is a modern if comparatively humble rival of these glistening highways 
of fiction and fable, for it represents fifteen thousand dollars hard cash. 

Mr. Edward P. Kinsella, vice-president of the Hanley-Kinsella Coffee 
Company, is the proud possessor of this unique walk. It is composed of several 
tons of Brazilian pebbles that came to him in an ordinary business way during 
the past few years. 

This firm are heavy importers of Brazilian coffee. Before the berries are 
ready to be roasted for the market the sacks are opened and the contents care- 
fully examined for twigs, leaves, and other impurities, the latter generally 
taking the shape of small pebbles about the size of a coffee-berry. These came 
with such regularity and in such quantities that long ago the idea that they 
were accidentally in the sacks was abandoned and the conclusion reluctantly 
reached that they were purposely placed in the bags to make weight. The daily 
discoveries of the Brazilian pebbles will fill an ordinary water-bucket. The im- 
porters pay for coffee. 

Two years ago Mr. Kinsella concluded to utilize this apparent evidence of 
the dishonesty of the far-away coffee-packer, and had the accumulation of peb- 
bles carted out to his handsome residence on the West Pine Street boulevard, 
where they were used to make a handsome garden walk. The pebbles represent 
a weight that in coffee would be worth fifteen thousand dollars. The gravel 
path is each month being added to, and it is but a question of time when Mr. 
Kinsella will have the most expensive piece of garden path in the known world. 
— St. Louis Globe- Democrat. 

Poetic Feet. — “ Isn’t there something the matter with the feet in this 
poem?” asked the editor. 

“ Sir,” replied the haughty man who stood by his desk, “I am a poet, not 
a chiropodist. — Washington Star. 

“In this poem,” said the poet, “you will find the proper number of feet.” 

“ Good 1” cried the editor ; “ now let’s see how fast they can travel out that 
door there.” — Atlanta Constitution. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


591 




592 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Information is a weekly paper, conducted by Mr. J. M. Stoddard, for- 
merly manager of Lippincott’s Magazine. The New York Herald speaks of it 
thus: . Information is excellent from an encyclopedic point of view. Its 

articles are admirably condensed, on timely subjects, and so arranged that no 
time is lost in referring to them. ... In fact, Information is a weekly ency- 
clopedia of current events, and, as such, it ought to find favor not only with 
thinkers and students, but also with those general readers who are too busy to 
keep track of the great events of each day, and who yet naturally desire to be 
informed as to the general progress of the world.” 

Songs of the People. — In the folk-songs of the different nations of the 
world men of science will one day recognize a body of evidence of great value 
in the study of popular origins, racial relations, primitive modes of thought, 
ancient customs, antique religions, and many other things which make up the 
study of ethnology. These folk-songs are the echoes of the heart-beats of the 
vast, vague, irresistible people. In them are crystallized habits, beliefs, and 
feelings of unspeakable antiquity, yet not in the words of the songs alone. 
Study of folk-song texts is only half-study ; indeed, it is study of the lesser 
half of the subject in respect of truthfulness. The words of the people’s songs 
are a record of externals chiefly, and very often they are only half-truths. 
If we would know the whole story which their creators put into them, con- 
sciously or unconsciously, we must hear also the music. 

As the term implies, the folk-song is the product of a people ; and a people 
do not lie. Music is an essential element of it, and music not only does not — 
it cannot — lie. The things which are at the bottom of music, without which 
it could not be, are unconscious human products. We all act on a recognition 
of this fact when we judge of the sentiments of another not so much by what 
he says to us as by his manner of saying it. The feelings which sway us pub- 
lish themselves in the pitch, dynamic intensity, and timbre of our voices. 

Try as we may, if we are powerfully moved we cannot conceal the fact 
if we open our mouths for utterance. Involuntarily the muscles of the vocal 
organs become tense or relax in obedience to the emotional stimulus, and the 
drama which is playing on the hidden stage of our hearts is disclosed by the 
tones which we utter. I do not say in the words, mind, but in the tones. The 
former may be false ; the tones are endowed with the elements already enumer- 
ated, of pitch, intensity, and timbre, and the modulation of these elements 
makes expressive melody. 

Science has recognized this law, and Herbert Spencer has formulated it. 
“ Variations of voice are the physiological results of variations of feeling;” 
and “feelings are muscular stimuli.” Thus simple is the explanation of the 
inherent truthfulness and expressiveness of the people’s music. — Musical Herald. 

Looking-Glasses in Coffins. — One of the ancient customs connected 
with Swedish funerals was to place a small looking-glass in the coffin of an 
unmarried female, so that when the last trump sounds she might be able to ar- 
range her tresses. It was the practice for Scandinavian maidens to wear their 
hair flowing loosely, while the matrons wore it bound about the head and 
generally covered with some form of cap. Hence the unmarried woman was 
imagined as awakening at the judgment-day with more untidy locks than her 
wedded sisters and more in need of a glass. — Westminster Review. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


593 


U. S. Govt. Tests 

of Baking Powders. 

The official analyses of the U. S. Dept, of Agri- 
culture, Division of Chemistry, Bulletin 13, on baking 
powders, show that of all baking powders examined, but 
six were found to be genuine cream of tartar powders, 
and the strength of these, as follows: 

Cleveland’s ( pure and strongest ) 

The others, on account of excess of starch, or 
improper manufacture, contained only 

All the remaining baking powders, some of which 
claim to be pure, perfectly pure, or “ absolutely pure,” 
are shown by the same report to contain alum or 
ammonia or other substitute for cream of tartar. 


Leavening 

Gas. 

12. 

S8 per cent. 

1 1. 

1 3 

u 

IO. 

26 

it 

9. 

29 

u 

8. 

03 

It 

7. 

28 

u 


Where 


v 






? 


Jt WISE choice of a company requires the exercise of discrimination, itself the 
result of knowledge. There are several excellent companies, among which 
there is a keen rivalry to best serve the interests of the insured. Their plans 
differ somewhat, costs vary somewhat ; in minor details, in special adaptations there are 
distinctions, but in essentials they are one. Insurance may be safely had in any of these. 

To determine which these are, a few rules may be laid down : 

a. Select a long-established company with a history of well-doing, having abundant 
assets securely invested, and a surplus over all liabilities ample to cover any possible 
depreciation in securities, or other remote contingencies. 

b. See that the company is purely mutual in organization and in practice ; that it is 
your company, and with your associates that you thus sell life insurance to yourself. 

c. Observe, whether or not, the policy which it issues secures to you equitable terms 
of discontinuance, preserving to you intact all payments which you have made in excess 
of the current cost of your insurance. The time may come when you may need money 
more than insurance — see that it is secured to you. 


d. Do not consider companies solely from the stand-point of size. Where there are 
large assets there are also large liabilities. An elephant is larger than a horse, but has 
less utility than the latter, except for show purposes. A company may become so large 
as to be unwieldy, and thus defeat thoroughness in management. 

e. Comparisons are rarely fair. The things contrasted should be alike and the period 
of observation the same. The cost of exactly similar policies, issued at the same ages 
and carried through a long series of years, may afford a reasonable test. An important 
thing to know is whether a company’s present condition is such and its methods so true 
to principle that it will, in all human probability, do as well as it has done. An honest 
agent will tell you, and demonstrate the truth of his statements. 

/. Examine the condition, record, plans, and policies of the Penn Mutual Life. 
It is confidently believed that no company is its superior ; and there are very few that 
may be regarded as competitors from the stand-points of fidelity to the interests of the 
insured and consistent liberality. 


Vol. LVI — 38 


Home Office, 921=3=5 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. 


594 


CURRENT NOTES. 


His Honor Convinced. — It has not been so very long since the old 
English court rules passed out of observance, and when they were in vogue 
nowhere were they observed more strictly than in South Carolina. The rules 
provided that a lawyer when he spoke in court must wear a black gown and 
coat, and that the sheriff must wear a cocked hat and sword. On one occasion 
a lawyer named Pettigrue arose to speak in a case on trial. 

“ Mr. Pettigrue,” said the judge, “ you have on a light coat. You cannot 
speak, sir.” 

“Oh, your honor,” Pettigrue replied, “may it please the court, I conform 
to the law.” 

“ No, Mr. Pettigrue,” declared the judge, “ you have on a light coat. You 
cannot speak.” 

“ But, your honor,” insisted the lawyer, “ you misinterpret. Allow me to 
illustrate. The law says that the barrister must wear a black gown and coat, 
does it not ?” 

“Yes,” replied the judge. 

“ And does your honor hold that it means that both gown and coat must 
be black ?” 

“ Certainly, Mr. Pettigrue, certainly, sir,” answered his honor. 

“And the law further says,” continued Mr. Pettigrue, “that the sheriff 
must wear a cocked hat and sword, does it not?” 

“ Yes, yes, Mr. Pettigrue,” the court answered, somewhat impatiently. 

“ And do you mean to say, your honor,” queried Pettigrue, “ that the 
sword must be cocked as well as the hat?” 

“ Eh? — er — h’m,” mused his honor. “ You-er — continue your speech, Mr. 
Pettigrue.” — Courier- Journal. 

Age doesn’t destroy good looks if you keep the skin plump and fresh by 
the use of Ingram’s Milk Weed Cream. Druggists sell it. Made by F. F. 
Ingram & Co., Detroit, Mich. 

The Legend of the “ Mike” Apple. — The so-called “ Mike” apples of 
Eastern Connecticut have a queer history, so it is related. Micah Rood was 
once a thrifty farmer in old Norwich town. His habits suddenly changed, and 
he became idle, restless, and intemperate. He neglected his work and shunned 
his neighbors. Some thought the change due to witchcraft, others to insanity. 
When the apple-trees blossomed in the spring, on one tree the flowers had 
turned from white to red. The neighbors wondered much, and especially as 
Rood was drawn to this tree by a resistless fascination. When the yellow 
apples ripened in the fall, each one was found to contain a red globule which 
was known afterward as the “ drop of blood.” The people remembered that a 
foreign peddler had passed through the village in the previous fall and had 
stopped overnight at Rood’s house, and the story grew that he had killed him 
for his money and buried the body under this tree. Search revealed nothing 
concerning the peddler, but the people said the evidence of Rood’s guilt was 
summed up in his disturbed spirit and the blood-mottled apples. Micah Rood 
lost all interest in his farm, became a dependant on the town, and died in 1717. 
But so long as the blood-spotted apples grow, they will be known as the 
“Mike” apple and will perpetuate the story of his life. — Springfield ( Massachu- 
setts ) Republican. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


595 


HARRIET HUBBARD AYER 

MANUFACTURER 

(By Permission to H. R. H. the Princess of Wales.) 

“ Hello, Mr. Druggist ! Mamma says please 
to send a jar of Recamier Cream and a bottle 
of Recamier Balm, right away. Sister Jane 
looks like a fright, and she cannot go to the 
ball unless she has Recamier Cream to take 
the spots and tan off.” 

Recamier Toilet Preparations 

The only ones prescribed and en= 
dorsed by eminent physicians. 



Send two-cent stamp for pamphlet, sample of powder, and bargain offer, to 

Harriet Hubbard Ayer, 

131 West 31st Street, New York. R6camier Cream 



TEN REASONS FOR USING 

DOBBINS ELECTRIC SOAP. 


THE REASON WHY it is best from a sanitary point of view, is because of its absolute 


a a 


a a 


it is unscented, is because nothing is used in its manufacture that 
must be hidden or disguised. 

it is cheapest to use, is because it is harder and dryer than ordinary 
soap, and does not waste away ; also because it is not filled with 
rosin and clay as make-weights. 


a a 


no boiling of clothes is needed, is because there is no adulteration 
in it — being absolutely pure, it can do its own work. 


a a 

jt a 


tt tt 


it tt 

tt tt 


it leaves clothes washed with it whiter and sweeter than any other 
soap, is because it contains no adulteration to yellow them. 

it washes flannels without shrinking, bringing them out soft, white, 
and fleecy, is because it is free from rosin, which hardens, yellows, 
and mats together all woollen fibres, making them harsh and coarse. 

three bars of it will make a gallon of elegant white soft-soap if 
simply shaved up and thoroughly dissolved by boiling in a gallon 
of water, is that it contains pure and costly ingredients found in no 
other soap. 

it won’t injure the finest lace or the most delicate fabric, is that all 
these ingredients are harmless. 

we paid $50,000 for the formula twenty-five years ago, is that we 
knew there was no other soap like it. 


it tt 


so many millions of women use it, is that they have found it to be the 
best and most economical, and absolutely unchanging in quality, 


ASK YOU! GROCER FOB IT. 


DOBBINS SOAP MFC. CO. 

PHILADELPHIA, PA. 


596 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Word Cockney. — We shall never, probably, arrive at an agreement 
as to the real meaning of the word cockney. Camden states that the Thames 
was once called the “ Cockney,” and therefore a cockney means one who lives 
on the banks of the Thames. The learned Professor Skeat prefers to connect 
cockney with the old English word cokes, a simpleton : thus, “ Bartholomew 
Cokes, Esquire,” in Ben Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair.” But Chambers de- 
rives the word from a French poem of the thirteenth century called “ Le Pays 
de Cocagne,” in which is described a city where the houses were made of barley 
sugar and cakes, the streets paved with pastry, and the shops supplied with 
goods for which no money was charged. 

The learned Dr. Cobham Brewer adds that the French at a very early 
period called the English “ Cocagne men,” — that is to say, beef-and-pudding 
men. I never heard of that; but I know that Joan of Arc habitually spoke 
of the English as “ goddams.” 

Still, I would deferentially draw Dr. Brewer’s attention to the circumstance 
that there is an Italian word cuccagna, meaning a land of pleasure and delight. 
In the fourteenth century, on the occasion of public festivals at Naples, it was 
the custom to erect in one of the squares of the city a sham mountain, which 
was supposed to represent Vesuvius, and from the crater of this mimic volcano 
flowed an eruption of sausages, cooked meat, and macaroni, for which the rabble 
scrambled and fought. The festivity was called a “ cuccagna,” from the French 
“ cognac,” which had been brought by Charles VIII. to Naples ; but the word 
itself was derived from “ coq,” an equivalent for a combat, a dispute, or con- 
testation. — G. A. Sala, in London Sunday Times. 

Turn About. — Toots. — “ It takes an artist to mix a cocktail.” 

Tanks. — “ I dare say ; I’ve seen a cocktail mix an artist.” — Puck. 

Yankee Doodle. — The tune of “ Yankee Doodle” has had seven or eight 
treatises written upon it in the last thirty years, ascribing it to various dates 
and origins, even back to the Netherlands and the days of Cromwell and the 
Charleses. Dr. George Grove, of London, England, author of the “ Dictionary 
of Music and Musicians,” has investigated thoroughly the various musical 
libraries and the British Museum in England, finding no traces of it whatever, 
thus exploding all the mystical, traditional, and apocryphal accounts thereof. 
But “ Yankee Doodle” had an origin and has a history. It was written by Dr. 
Richard Shuckburg (whose commission dates 1737) in the French and Indian 
war of 1755 under General Jeffrey Amherst, and was intended as a “take-off” 
on the “ rag, tag, and bobtail” recruits of the colonies that came into the army. 
It “ took” so well, however, that the Americans have ever adopted it, and would 
not part with it for anything. The first words, 

“ Father and I went down to camp,” 

were in the Boston Journal in 1768, and the first record of the tune is in 
Arnold’s “Two to One,” 1784: so that “Yankee Doodle,” although written by 
a British surgeon, is really American. — Boston Transcript. 

Mitigating Circumstances.— Hungry Higgins.— “ I think of all the sad 
sights they is a empty bottle is the saddest. Don’t you ?” 

Weary Watkins.— “ Not if I’ve had the emptyin’ of it.”— Indianapolis 
Journal. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


597 




How it looks, 

to the women who wash with Pearline, when 
they see a woman washing in the old-fashioned 
k way with soap — rubbing the clothes to pieces, 
rubbing away her strength, wearing herself 
lt>r ^ \| out over the washboard ! To these Pearl- 
^ J ine women, fresh from easy washing, she 
‘ seems to “wear a fool’s cap unawares.” 

Everything’s in favor of Pearline — 
easier work, quicker work, better 
work, safety, economy. There’s 
not one thing against it. What’s 
the use of washing in the hardest 
way, when it costs more money ? 489 



MUM 



PROVIDENT LIFE AND TRUST CO. 

OF PHILADELPHIA. 

Attention is directed to the new Instalment- Annuity Policy of the Provident, 
which provides a fixed income for twenty years, and for the continuance of the 
income to the widow for the balance of her life, if she should survive the instal- 
ment period of twenty years. 

In everything which makes Life Insurance perfectly safe and moderate in cost, and 
in liberality to policy-holders, the Provident is unsurpassed. 


CHILDREN 


Teething 


For Children While Cutting Their Teeth. 

Wl Oil ail Well-Tried Remedy. 

FOR OVER FIFTY YEARS. 


MRS. WINSLOW’S SOOTHING SYRUP 

has been used for over FIFTY YEARS by MILLIONS of MOTHERS for their CHILDREN WHILE TEETH- 
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CURES WIND COLIC, and is the best remedy for DIARRHOEA. Sold by Druggists in every part of the 
world. Be sure and ask for Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, and take no other kind. 


TWENTY-FIVE CENTS A BOTTLE. 


598 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Sermons and Slumbers. — “ Shut the doors !” cried Father Andre one day 
to the Swiss on duty, when he observed the Archbishop of Paris asleep during 
his discourse. “ Shut the doors ! the shepherd is asleep, the sheep will get out ! ,f 
“ Some men preach,” said Sydney Smith, “ as if they thought sin is to be taken 
out of a man as Eve was taken out of Adam, by casting him into a profound 
slumber.” So at any rate thought not South, who, preaching one day at 
Whitehall, observed King Charles II. and several of his attendants asleep. 
Stooping down, he cried out to one of the delinquents, “My lord, I am sorry to 
interrupt you, but if you snore so loud you will wake the king.” His majesty 
thereupon awoke, and, turning to his neighbor, remarked, with his accustomed 
good nature, “This man must be made a bishop; remind me on the next 
vacancy.” Latimer speaks of a woman who suffered from insomnia, and who, 
all soporifics having failed, was taken to the Church of St. Thomas of Acres, 
when she fell at once into a refreshing slumber. Lapenius, chaplain to the 
Danish court (1662), noticing that a large part of the congregation fell asleep 
during the sermon, suddenly stopped, and, pulling from his pocket a shuttle- 
cock, commenced to play with it. The strange device, we are assured, had the 
effect desired. — Temple Bar. 

French-Canadian Timidity.— Some of the uninitiated Canadians bring 
with them into Maine a lively apprehension of personal peril. Being strangers 
in a new land makes them nervous, perhaps. A Somerset County farmer, who 
lives well up on a hill-side, tells a story of his hiring through an interpreter a 
Canadian who could speak no English to work for him. The farmer is rather 
a large, stern-looking man, and just after the Frenchman arrived at his house 
he stepped into the pantry and came out with a large butcher’s knife in his 
hand, whetting it on a sharpener as a preparation for cutting some meat for 
supper. He at the same time began to make some talk in English to the Gaul, 
whose eyes opened wider and wider in alarm as he watched the whetting of the 
knife. He evidently thought murder was intended, for as the farmer came 
nearer him he bolted out of doors like a deer, and ran across the fields and 
down the hill-sides. His only answer as the farmer ran after him, endeavoring 
to call him back, was, “ Me scare ! Me scare !” The employer had to go to 
town and have matters explained by an interpreter before he could induce the 
Frenchman to return . — Lewiston [Maine) Journal. 

Australian Women. — Though pretty, tall, and well formed, the Aus- 
tralian is not graceful. Her feet are seldom small, her hands rarely beautiful. 
Moreover, she does not dress well. Her toilette has none of the chic of the 
Parisienne’s, little of the sobriety of the Englishwoman’s. Overdressed or 
dowdy, she produces the impression of not only having little taste, but no 
artistic sense of the fitness of things. Stylish and elegant women are to be 
seen more frequently in Melbourne than elsewhere. Nevertheless, dress is dear 
to the soul of an Australian, and much is spent on it. Down in the lowest 
social grades it plays an important part. The Australian hugs the ideas of 
equality, and, believing in uniformity of dress as the visible sign of equality, 
often sacrifices actual comfort to obtain fashionable clothing. An Australian 
family makes a brave show on holidays. There may be bare feet and rags in 
the house, but there are cheap feathers and gloves in the street . — North Ameri- 
can Review. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


599 



Buffalo 


Spring' 
No. i. 


Ljthia Water 


For Dyspepsia, Female Complaints, Malarial Poisoning;, Tonic Properties, Etc. 

The late Dr. Thomas P. Atkinson ,ex-president Medical Society of Virginia: 

“For more than fifty years I have been a great sufferer from that Protean disease (Dyspepsia), 
to find relief from which I have made many visits to nearly all of the mineral Springs in Virginia— 
Allegheny, the Montgomery White, Coyners, the Yellow Sulphur, the Greenbriar 
White Sulphur, the Old and the Ked SweetSprings, the Salt Sulphur, the Hot and Warm Springs. I 
have also tested the virtues of the Ballston, the Saratoga and the Lebanon Springs in the State 
of New York, and I can say with confidence that I derived more benefit from the water of the 
BUFFALO Springs, in the county of Mecklenburg, Va., than from any and all of the others. 
It is invaluable in many of the affections peculiar to women, in Chills and Fevers, and all 
diseases originating under Malarial influences. The most valuable properties of this Water 
are those of an alterative and a tonic character; it is powerfully diaphoretic and diuretic; indeed, 
it affects all of the secretions, but its crowning glory is that it is the best tonic in all the land. To 
a person debilitated by the long and imprudent use of medicine (and there are many such) or by 
the disease or by overwork (and in this category, too, there are many sufferers), it has no equal 
in all the range of medicines of which I have any knowledge.” 

Dr. John H. Tucker, Henderson , N. C., President of the Medical Society of 
North Carolina. 

“The ac- BrvmftftT A I I TUI A Wim Spring No. 1, is that of a decided Nerve 
tion of the Uviinw mIIIXIA xlm ILK Tonic. Nervous Dyspepsia, with its train 
of distressing symptoms, is promptly and permanently relieved by it. In many of the diseases 
peculiar to women I prescribe this water with almost the same confidence that I do quinine in 
Chills and Fever. I have observed marked beneficial results from its use in the disorders of 
teething infants. I have sent many patients of this class to the Springs for the use of this water, 
and without exception, they have returned to me cured or greatly benefited.” 

This Water is for sale by druggists generally, or in cases of one dozen half-gallon bottles $5.00 f.o.b. 
at the Springs. Descriptive pamphlets sent to any address. 

THOMAS F. GOODE, Proprietor, Buffalo Lithia Springs, Va. 





MPERIAL 

HairRegenerator 


Instantly Restores Gray Hair and 
Bleached Hair. 


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Baths do not affect it. Does not prevent curling or crimping. 
Send sample of hair to be colored free. 


No. 1. Black. 

No. 2. Dark Brown. 
No. 3. Medium Brown. 


COLORS. 

No. 4. Chestnut. No. 6. Gold Blond. 

No. 5. Light Chestnut. No. 7. Ash Blond. 

Price, $1.50 and $3.00. 


A free sample bottle of the finest rouge, “ Imperial Venus Tint,” will be sent on receipt of 2-cent stamp. 


Imperial Chemical Manufacturing Co., 292 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 

In PHILADELPHIA: Geo. B. Evans, 1106 Chestnut Street. 


Consumption Cured. —An old physician, retired from practice, had placed 
in his hands by an East India missionary the formula of a simple vegetable 
remedy for the speedy and permanent cure of Consumption, Bronchitis, Catarrh, 
Asthma, and all throat and lung affections, also a positive and radical cure 
for nervous debility and all nervous complaints. Having tested its wonderful 
curative powers in thousands of cases, and desiring to relieve human suffering, 
I will send free of charge to all who wish it, this recipe, in German, French, or 
English, with full directions for preparing and using. Sent by mail, by ad- 
dressing, with stamp, naming this paper. W. A. Noyes, 820 Powers’ Block, 
Rochester, New York. 



600 


CURRENT NOTES. 


How a Book was Whitten. — Dr. Hoffmann, of Frankfort, Germany, whose 
“ Shock-Headed Peter” is one of the most famous child’s books in the world, 
tells as a good joke how he happened to make it, for he is a quaint old German 
scientist, though good-humored. One Christmas he had been searching high 
and low for a suitable picture-book for his two-year-old boy, but in vain. At 
last he purchased a blank copy-book and told his wife he was going to make a 
picture-book for the boy, — “ one he can understand, and in which the tedious 
morals ‘ be obedient,’ ‘ be clean,’ * be industrious,’ are brought home in a manner 
which impresses the young child.’’ 

Dr. Hoffmann was the head physician of the Frankfort Lunatic Asylum, 
and knew nothing of drawing, but he set to work and produced the gruesome 
picture of all the naughty boys and girls which everybody knows. His child 
was delighted, and when some of his circle of literary friends saw it they urged 
him to have it published before the boy spoiled it, and Dr. Loning, the pub- 
lisher, said he would bring it out. 

“Well,” said Dr. Hoffmann, “give me eighty gulden [about twenty-five 
dollars], and try your fortune. Don’t make it expensive, and don’t make it too 
strong. Children like to tear books as well as to read them, and nursery-books 
ought not to be heirlooms. They ought to last only a time.” An edition of 
fifteen hundred was quickly sold, and now one hundred and seventy-five editions 
have appeared in Germany and forty in England, and it has been translated 
into Russian, Swedish, Danish, Dutch, French, Italian, and Portuguese, and it 
has penetrated India, Africa, and Australia. — Philadelphia Press. 

The White Woman’s Failing— The Indians believe that if the stillness 
over the waters of a lake be broken by any careless word the spirits of the place 
will be offended. In the days of the early settlers, we are told, a white woman 
had occasion to cross Lake Saratoga, and the Indians who were to row her 
across warned her of the danger that one rash word might bring. 

It was a calm, cloudless day, and the canoe sped like an arrow across the 
smooth waters. Suddenly, when in the middle of the lake, the strong-minded 
woman determined to prove to these simple folk the folly of their belief. So 
she lifted up her voice in a wild cry that awoke every echo of the hills. 

The Indians were filled with consternation. They uttered no word, but, 
straining every nerve, rowed on in frowning silence. They reached the shore 
in safety, and the woman triumphed, but the Mohawk looked upon her in scorn. 

“ The Great Spirit is merciful,” he said. “ He knows that the white woman 
cannot hold her peace.” — New York World. 

A Perplexing Dilemma. — “ Look here, mister,” said the man with a 
carpet-sack, “ I’m willin’ to do anything that’s in reason. I’m willin’ to mind 
any rules yer hotel sees fit to get up, as long as they have any common sense 
back of ’em, but all I’ve got to say is that if yer in earnest you’ve vi’lated the 
principles of common sense, an’ if it’s a joke it’s a mighty doggoned poor one.” 

“What on earth do you mean?” the hotel clerk asked as the guest took 
breath. 

“ I allude to them signs ye’ve got tacked up in my room. One of them 
says, ‘ Don’t blow out the gas,’ and another says, ‘ Gas burned after midnight’ll 
be charged fur extra.’ Now, what in thunder is a feller goin’ to do ?”— Wash- 
ington Star. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


601 



Food For Both. 


Every nursing mother needs the kind of 
nourishment there is in 


p^heuser-busc/, 


The baby needs it in order to grow 
healthy and plump; the mother needs 
it in order to keep healthy and plump. 

To be had at all Druggists' and Grocers'. 
Prepared by 

ANHEUSER-BUSCH BREWING ASS’N., 
St. Louis, U. S. A. 

Send for handsomely illustrated colored booklets 
and other reading matter. 


SPECIAL NOTICE — The Supreme Court of Washington, D. C. has awarded to the Anheuser- 
Busch Brewing Ass’n. the disputed Highest Score of award with Medal and Diploma of the World’s 
Columbian Exposition, Chicago, 1893. 


| brown's! 
CAMPHORATED 

SAPONACEOUS 

DENTIFRICE 

FOR THE 

TEETH. 


THE BEST TOILET LUXURY AS A DENTIFRICE IN 
THE WORLD. 

TO CLEANSE AND WHITEN THE TEETH, 

TO REMOVE TARTAR FROM THE TEETH, 

TO SWEETEN THE BREATH AND PRESERVE THE 
TEETH, 

TO MAKE THE GUMS HARD AND HEALTHY, 


USE BROWN’S CAMPHORATED SAPONACEOUS DENTIFRICE. 

Price, Twenty=Five Cents a Jar. For Sale by all Druggists. 


Bird-Manna! — The great secret of the canary -breeders 
of the Hartz Mountains, Germany. Bird-Manna will restore 
the song of cage-birds, will prevent their ailments, and restore 
them to good condition. If given during the season of shedding 
feathers it will, in most cases, carry the little musician through 
this critical period without loss of song. Sent by mail on re- 
ceipt of 15 cents in stamps. Sold by Druggists. Directions free. 

Bird Food Company, 400 North Third Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

A Pound of Facts is worth oceans of theories. More infants are success- 
fully raised on the Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk than upon any 
other food. Infant Health is a valuable pamphlet for mothers. Send your ad- 
dress to the New York Condensed Milk Company, New York. 



602 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Metropolitan Enterprise. — He was a forlorn stranger walking down 
Park Row toward the Brooklyn bridge. 

Mr. Isaacs, standing in front of his store, laid his jewelled hand on the 
man’s shabby coat. 

“Come right in,” said Mr. Isaacs, “und I vill sell you von of dose im- 
ported suits for seven dollars.” 

“ I have no money, and am now going to commit suicide,” answered the 
sad stranger. 

“ So ! Mine frient, here is my card. Put it in your pocket, und ven your 
body is found the papers vill publish it.” — Club. 

Figs or Quinces?— Chodj a had to appear before the Khadi on some law 
business. As it was the custom never to appear with empty hands before a judge, 
the Chodja filled a basket with fine quinces from his garden to take with him. 
But his wife interfered, and advised him rather to carry to the Khadi some nice 
ripe figs, instead of the hard quinces. 

Nastradin argued with his wife some time about the matter, but at last, as 
he could not convince her that the quinces were a more “dignified” gift, he 
emptied his basket and refilled it with figs. He found the Khadi in an awful 
bad temper, and the luscious figs were looked at with contempt. “ Go into a 
corner,” ordered the Khadi, “ and stand still.” 

The Chodja obeyed, and immediately the Khadi began to pelt him with 
figs from the basket. As the magistrate had a good aim and the figs were ripe, 
the face of the poor Chodja was soon a sight for sore eyes. “ Oh I” cried Nas- 
tradin, “ now I see that it is verily a good thing for a man to listen, at least once 
a year, to the advice of his wife.” 

“ Why so?” asked the Khadi, astonished, and he stopped pelting to hear 
the reply. 

“ Why, if I had followed my own wisdom, you would have killed me before 
this ! The hard quinces I wished to bring you would have certainly broken my 
head ; but, thanks to my good luck, I listened at last to my stubborn wife’s 
seeming foolishness and brought you these ripe figs ! Empty the basket as quick 
as you please, 0 just Khadi! The figs will do me no harm.” — Good Words. 

“More Haste, Worse Speed.” — Of all the “tournaments” I ever saw, 
one among “ dairymaids” at an agricultural show was perhaps the last to asso- 
ciate itself with that heroic procedure which such a word suggests. There were 
about forty of them, armed with “ churns” and started at the same moment to 
make butter against time. Each came provided with a watch, and the tempta- 
tion was almost irresistible to turn the handle of the machine as quickly as pos- 
sible. But no, butter must be “humored,” not driven. The silent lists were 
filled with the provokingly deliberate “ flip, flop,” of forty churns. One of the 
slowest combatants won the race. I never realized more plainly that “ most 
haste is worst speed.” — Cornhill Magazine. 


They Saw Him Try. — tyEr. Hammar. — “ What I want to know is whether 
I am barred from membership in your club just because I am an actor?” 

“ Most certainly not, sir. The clubmen have all seen you on the stage and 
voted unanimously that you are not an actor .” — London Tit-Bits. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


603 



eopeo. 


A Case of Shrinkage 

The usual result of washing shrinkable things with 
common soap. To make them clean you have to over 
wash them. Too much washing and too much alkali 
do the mischief. For washing woolens and flannels, 
or any article likely to shrink or change its color, there 
is no soap equal to OQ^Q. It’s so good that it 
makes things clean with very little washing — so pure 
it neither injures the fabric nor removes the color. 
Copco is a perfect soap at a common soap price 
All dealers sell it. Made only by 

THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, 

Chicago, New York, St, Louis. 


164 


CURRENT NOTES. 


GOLD DUST WASHING POWDER. 



SOMEBODY must wash the dishes — whose lot will 
it be ? This is a three-times-a-day problem in many a 
household. The one the duty falls on should know that 
GOLD DUST WASHING POWDER will make the 
task a light one. Gold Dust quickly cuts the 
grease and makes pots and kettles clean. Will 
you use it ? A large package costs but 25c. 
Sold by dealers everywhere. Made only by 
THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, Chicago, 
St. Louis, New York, Boston, Philadelphia. 



The November Number 


OF 

LIPPINCOTTS 


MAGAZINE, 

READY OCTOBER 22, 

Will contain a Complete Novel entitled 

In Sight of the Goddess, 

A TALE OF WASHINGTON LIFE, 


BY 

HARRIET RIDDLE DAVIS, 

Author of “The Chapel of Ease,” “Gilbert Elgar’s Son,” etc. 


And the Usual Variety of Stories, Essays, 
Poems, etc. 

x 

For List of Complete Novels contained in Former Numbers, see Next Page. 


THE COMPLETE NOVELS 


WHICH HAVE ALREADY APPEARED IN 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE , 


AND WHICH ARE ALWAYS OBTAINABLE , ARE: 


No. 

334. My Strange Patient . . . William T. Nichols 

333. A Case in Equity Francis Lynde 

332. Little Lady Lee . . . Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 
331. A Social Highway man. Elizabeth Phipps Train 
330. The Battle of Salamanca. Benito PSrez Guidos 
329. The Lady of Las Cruces . . . Christian Reid 
328. Alain of Halfdene . . . Anna Kobeson Brown 
327. A Tame Surrender . . . Captain Charles King 
326. The Chapel of Ease . . . Harriet Kiddle Davis 

325. The Waifs of Fighting Rocks. 

Charles Mcllvaine 

324. Mrs. Hallam’s Companion. 

Mrs. Mary J. Holmes 

323. Dora’s Defiance Lady Lindsay 

322. A Question of Courage . . . Francis Lynde 

321. Captain Molly Mary A. Denison 

320. Sweetheart Manette . . . Maurice Thompson 

319. Captain Close Captain Charles King 

318. The Wonder- Witch .... M. G. McClelland 
317. A Professional Beauty. Elizabeth Phipps Train 
316. The Flying Halcyon . . Richard Henry Savage 

315. A Desert Claim Mary E. Stickney 

314. The Picture of Las Cruces . . Christian Reid 

313. The Colonel Harry Willard French 

312. Sergeant Croesus .... Captain Charles King 
311. An Unsatisfactory Lover .... The Duchess 
310. The Hepburn Line . . . Mrs. Mary J. Holme® 
309. A Bachelor’s Bridal. . . . II. Lovett Cameron 
308. In the Midst of Alarms .... Robert Barr 
307. The Troublesome Lady . Patience Stapleton 
306. The Translation of a Savage. Gilbert Parker 

305. Mrs. Romney Rosa Noucheue Carey 

304. Columbus in Love . . George Alfred Townsend 
303. Waring’s Peril . 

302. The First Flight 
301. A Pacific Encounter . . . 

300. Pearce Amerson’s Will. 

Richard Malcolm Johnston 

299. More than Kin Marion Harland 

298. The Kiss of Gold Kate Jordan 

297. The Doomswoman Gertrude Atherton 

296. The Martlet Seal. . . . Jeannette H. Walworth 

295. White Heron M. G. McClelland 

294. John Gray (A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time). 

James Lane Allen 

293. The Golden Fleece .... Julian Hawthorne 
292. But Men Must Work . Rosa Nouchette Carey 
291. A Soldier’s Secret . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 

290. Roy the Royalist William Westall 

289. The Passing of Major Kilgore. 

Young E. Allison 

288. A Fair Blockade-Breaker . ., T. C. De Leon 
r ;87. The Duke and the Commoner. 

Mrs. Poultney Bigelow 

286. Lady Patty The Duchess 

285. Carlotta’s Intended . . Ruth McEnery Stuart 
284. A Daughter’s Heart . Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 
183. A Rose of a Hundred Leaves. Amelia E. Ban- 
282. Gold of Pleasure . . . George Parsons Lathrop 

SINGLE NUMBERS 


No. 

281. Vampires Julien Gordon 

280. Maiden’s Choosing. . . Mrs. Ellen Olney Kirk 
279. The Sound of a Voice . . Frederick S. Cozzens 

278. A Wave of Life Clyde Fitch 

277. The Light that Failed . . Rudyard Kipling 
276. An Army Portia . . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 
275. A Laggard in Love . Jeanie Gwynne Bettany 
274. A Marriage at Sea w. Clark Russell 

273. The Mark of the Beast. 

Katharine Pearson Woods 

272. What Gold Cannot Buy . . Mrs. Alexander 
271. The Picture of Dorian Gray . . Oscar Wilde 
270. Circumstantial Evidence . Mary E. Stickney 
269. A Sappho of Green Springs . . . Bret Harte 

268. A Cast for Fortune Christian Reid 

267. Two Soldiers .... Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 
266. The Sign of the Four .... A Conan Doyle 
265. Millicent and Rosalind . . Julian Hawthorne 

264. All He Knew John Habberton 

263. A Belated Revenge. Dr. Robt. Montgomery Bird 

262. Creole and Puritan T. C. De Leon 

261. Solarion Edgar Fawcett 

260. An Invention of the Enemy. W. H. Babcock 
259. Ten Minutes to Twelve . M. G. McClelland 
258. A Dream of Conquest . . General Lloyd Brice 
257. A Chain of Errors .... Mrs. E. W. Latimer 
256. The Witness of the Sun . . . Amelie Rives 

255. Bella-Demonia ) Selina Dolaro 

254. A Transaction in Hearts .... Edgar Saltus 

253. Hale-Weston M. Elliot Seawell 

251. Earthlings Grace King 

250. Queen of Spades, and Autobiography. E. P. Roe 
249. Herod and Mariamne. 

A Tragedy Amelie Rives 

248. Mammon Maude Howe 

247. The Yellow Snake Wm. Henry Bishop 

246. Beautiful Mrs. Thorndyke. 

Mrs. Poultney Bigelow 

245. The Old Adam II. II. Boyesen 

244. The Quick or the Dead?. . . Amelie Rives 
243. Honored in the Breach . . . Julia Magrudei 
242. The Spell of Home. 

After the German of E. Werner. Mrs. A. L. Wister 
241. Check and Counter-Check. 

Brander Matthews and George H. Jessop 
239. The Terra-Cotta Bust . . Virginia W. Johnson 
238. Apple Seed and Brier Thorn. Louise Stockton 
237. The Red Mountain Mines. Lew Vanderpoole 


236. A Land of Love Sidney Luska 

235. At Anchor Julia Magruder 

234. The Whistling Buoy .... Charles Barnard 

232. Douglas Duane Edgar Fawcett 

231. Kenyon’s Wife Lucy C. Lillie 

230. A Self-Made Man M. G. McClelland 

229. Sinflre Julian Hawthorne 

228. Miss Defarge .... Frances Hodgson Burnett 
227. Brueton’s Bayou John Habberton 


25 CENTS. SS.OO PER YEAR 


. . Capt. Charles King, U.S.A. 

. Julien Gordon 
Mary E. Stickney 




J. B. LIPPINCOTT 
COMPANY’S 


0 


New and Forthcoming 
Publications 

IN MEDICINE AND SCIENCE, 

TOGETHER WITH A LIST OF 

MISCELLANEOUS, FICTION, AND JUVENILE WORKS, 

NOW READY AND IN COURSE OF PREPARATION. 

October, 1895. 

X- 

For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by the Publishers, 
upon receipt of price. 


7> 5-7*7 MARKET STREET, PHILADELPHIA. 



%S 


Pediatrics. 

The Hygienic and Medical Treatment of Children. By Thomas 
Morgan Rotch, M.D., Professor of the Diseases of Children, 
Harvard University. With over four hundred illustrations in the 
text, and eight full-page lithographic plates in colors. Over one 
thousand pages. By subscription only. 

The diseases peculiar to infancy and childhood, or the period from birth to 
puberty, are of a type so characteristic as to merit, and even demand, special study 
for their successful treatment. Physicians of eminence and ability have devoted 
their talents to pediatrics exclusively ; and the fruits of their labors are gathered 
into treatises at once copious and exhaustive. While this is true, the publishers 
have perceived the need both to students and practitioners of medicine, for a more 
compact treatise on pediatrics, whose scope, by including only the essential, shall 
be sufficiently full, exhaustive, and authoritative without filling up its pages with 
discussions of theoretical and mooted questions. 

Professor Rotch’s work meets just this demand, and embodies the results of 
his experience for the past ten years, both as an original investigator and also as a 
clinical professor of Diseases of Children in Harvard University. The treatment 
is therefore from the stand-point of the lecturer, in which the clinical feature is 
prominent. The text matter has all been revised and rewritten within the past 
few mouths, and presents the author’s ideas and experience in pediatrics in their 
latest practical form. 

The chapter on Feeding presents for the first time in full, the great advances 
which have been made in this branch of medicine through the establishment of 
milk laboratories for the preparation of modified milk in accordance with physi- 
cians’ prescriptions. 

Special features of the work are chapters on the Healthy Infant at Birth and 
its Development to Puberty ; Premature Infants treated in Professor Rotch’s newly 
devised incubator ; the Blood in Early Rife ; Nervous Diseases peculiar to Children 
and Diseases of the Stomach and Intestines, all of which are finely illustrated. 


Medical Diagnosis, with Special Reference to 
Practical Medicine. (Eighth Edition.) 


A Guide to the Knowledge and Discrimination of Diseases. By J. M. 
DaCosta, M.D., LL.D., President of the College of Physicians of 
Philadelphia, Emeritus Professor of Practice of Medicine and of 
Clinical Medicine at the Jefferson Medical College, Philadelphia ; 
Physician to the Pennsylvania Hospital, etc. New, eighth edition 
thoroughly revised and enlarged. Illustrated with numerous 
engravings. 8vo. Cloth, $6.00; sheep, $7.00; half Russia, 
$7.50. 


Another edition having been demanded, the author has revised the work, and 
altered some of its chapters. New matter has been inserted, old matter in parts 
condensed. 



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to be established as valuable for diagnostic purposes. The introduction of a 
number of additional wood-cuts and of temperature charts taken from cases 
actually observed, will conduce to greater clearness and accuracy. 

“ DaCosta’s work is well known and highly and justly esteemed in England as 
in America. It is too firmly established, and its value too thoroughly recognized, 
to need a word pro or con.” — London Medical Times and Gazette. 


Cutaneous Medicine. 


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A Systematic Treatise on the Diseases of the Skin. By Louis A. 
Duhring, M.D., Professor of Diseases of the Skin in the Uni- 
versity of Pennsylvania; author of “A Practical Treatise on 
Diseases of the Skin” and “Atlas of Skin Diseases.” Part I. 
Now Ready. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth $2.50. 

The present work has been written to take the place of the author’s former 
“Practical Treatise on Diseases of the Skin,” now out of print. The material 
dealt with in the present volume has on all sides been approached from a practical 
stand-point. It has been the aim of the author to adhere closely to the practical 
aspect of the subject, supported by science and by experience. The work, as a 
whole, rests on clinical observation supported by pathology and pathological 
anatomy. The principles of cutaneous pathology and therapeutics have been put 
forth upon conservative lines in the light of modern research and experience. 
The rapid strides that Dermatology has taken during the past decade have 
produced remarkable changes in the pathology of many of the diseases of the 
skin, but clinical observations are not the less valuable and important. 

O11 account of the great demand for the work, it has been determined to 
publish the book in two parts. Part I. contains : Anatomy of the Skin — 
Physiology of the Skin — General Symptomatology — General Etiology — General 
Pathology — General Diagnosis — General Treatment— General Prognosis. Part II. 
will follow shortly. 


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; Tuberculous Disease of Bones and Joints: Its 
I Pathology, Symptoms, and Treatment. 

j By W. Watson Cheyne, M.D., Ed., F.R.S., F.R.C.S., Professor of 
Surgery in King’s College. Three hundred and seventy-four 
^ pages, with sixty-three illustrations. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00. 

I The author has divided the matter of the following work into two parts — the 

first of which deals with the pathology and treatment of tuberculous diseases of 
I bones and joints in general, and the second with the symptoms and treatment, 
r founded on the foregoing pathology of the individual bones and joints in partic- 
I nlar, and will be useful to those who are called upon to treat these obstinate and 
I very serious cases. The treatment described is that which the author has found 
best and is employed by those who have paid special attention to these diseases. 

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Diphtheria and its Associates. 

By Lennox Browne, F.R.C.S., Ed., Senior Surgeon to the London 
Throat, Nose, and Ear Hospital. Numerous illustrations, colored 
and otherwise, by the author. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00. 

Every endeavor has been made to give the latest views on each separate branch 
of this vast subject, and for this purpose the opinions of recognized authorities 
are largely quoted. The author emphasizes the necessity of assimilating the 
teachings of bacteriology to the purposes of practical medicine, and indicates the 
further necessity for the scientific expert and the clinician to work together as 
colleagues and not as rivals. 

Urinalysis. 

Including five hundred blanks for Recording the Analysis and Micro- 
scopic Examination of the Urine. For Medical Practitioners, 
Life Insurance Companies, and Specialists. Arranged by Joseph 
C. Guernsey, A.M., M.D. Cloth, $3.00. 

“ This book must be of value not only to the specialist, in the treatment of 
kidney disorders, but to the advanced general practitioner as well. The directions 
for the analysis of urine are brief, but specific and clear, — sufficiently full for all 
practical purposes. In addition there are five hundred blanks numbered consecu- 
tively, which permit the recording of the complete clinical character of every 
case. The book should find a place upon the table of every working physician.” 

Functional and Organic Diseases of the Stomach. 

By Sidney Martin, M.D., F.R.S., F.R.C.P, Five hundred pages. 
Sixty illustrations. 8vo. Cloth. 

It is some years since a systematic treatise on diseases of the stomach was 
published in English. No apology is therefore necessary for the issue of this work. 
During the past few years great advances have been made not only in pathological 
chemistry, but in pathology generally ; and these advances specially affect the 
study of functional and organic diseases of the stomach, inasmuch as the changes 
in the processes of digestion in disease have been studied during life, with the 
result of throwing great light not only on the symptoms, but also on the treat- 
ment of these diseases. 


A Hand=book of Hygiene. W 

By A. M. Davies, M.R.C.S., L.S.A., D.P.H. Five hundred and ninety M 

pages. Illustrated. i6mo. Leather, $4.00. 

The aim of the book is to make the reader acquainted as far as possible with p 
what has been written on the subject by approved authorities, to compare and 
weigh different statements, to digest this information into as small a compass as is A 
advisable without sacrificing clearness, and at the same time omit nothing of real 
importance. wj) 

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Infancy and Infant Rearing: an Introductory 

Manual. 

By John Benjamin Hellier, M.D., M.R.C.S. With illustrations. 
i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

The subject of this book is the maintenance of health in infancy ; not the 
treatment of disease, but its prevention. The work is intended, in the first place, 
for the use of those pupil-midwives and other nurses who seek a scientific under- 
standing of their work, so far as it affects the care of infants. 

A Medical and Surgical Help for Shipmates and 
Officers in the Merchant Navy. 

By W. Johnson Smith, F.R.C.S., Principal Medical Officer, Seamen’s 
Hospital, Greenwich, England. With colored plates and illustra- 
tions. Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.25. 

The main objects cf this manual are to afford some help in the treatment of 
injury and disease occuring at sea, and under other local conditions in which 
there may be no possibility of obtaining professional assistance. 

Therapeutics of Infancy and Childhood. 

By A. Jacobi, M.D. In press. 

The Metallurgy of Iron and Steel. 

By Thomas Turner, Associate of the Royal School of Mines ; Fellow 
of the Institute of Chemistry ; Director of Technical Instruction 
to the Staffordshire County Council. Being one of a series of 
Treatises on Metallurgy written by Associates of the Royal School 
of Mines. Edited by Prof. W. C. Roberts=Austen, C.B., F.R.S. 
Illustrated by eighty engravings. In one volume. 8vo. Three 
hundred and sixty-seven pages. Price, Cloth, $5.00. 

This book is one of a series of volumes, written by Associates of the Royal 
School of Mines, and edited by Professor Roberts-Austen. It is not a merely 
elementary text-book on the one hand, or an exhaustive treatise on the other ; 
nor does it cover the syllabus of any examining board. It is primarily intended 
for persons who are connected with the manufacture of iron and steel, and who 
may, therefore, be assumed to have already some general knowledge of the sub- 
ject discussed. At the same time, it is hoped that, with the growing importance 
of scientific and technical instruction in a modern liberal education, such a 
volume as the present may not be without interest to others than those for whom 
it was specially prepared. 

The history of the manufacture of iron and steel is treated more fully than is 
usual in metallurgical treatises. It was thought that a brief history of the subject 
would not merely be of considerable educational value, but would assist the student 
in learning certain metallurgical facts in an interesting manner ; and, while show- 

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ing the steps by which modern achievements have been accomplished, would 
indicate to the would-be inventor some of the paths which have been already 
travelled. 

The portions dealing with foundry practice and with the reactions of the 
puddling furnace have been dealt with in greater detail than usual, as the author 
has paid special attention to these subjects, and has been frequently asked to 
publish his researches in a convenient form. A special chapter has also been 
devoted to the corrosion of iron and steel, as this subject is of great importance in 
connection with the permanence of modern structures. 

Numerous references to original sources of information have been given 
throughout the volume, since it is of the utmost importance that the student 
should acquire the habit of obtaining for himself further information on subjects 
which can necessarily only be very briefly treated in a work which deals with so 
large a subject. 

The Wonders of Modern Mechanism. 

A Resume of Recent Progress in Mechanical, Physical, and Engineer- 
ingScience. By Charles Henry Cochrane, Mechanical Engineer, 
author of “Artistic Homes, and How to Build Them,” “The 
History of Marlborough.” Crown 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 

The subjects are not those that have been written threadbare, — the telephone, 
electric light, trolley railway, etc., being regarded as old and familiar stories. 
Instead of these we have the most recent results of scientific mechanical develop- 
ment, so that the world of to-morrow is opened up to our observation, and we may 
read of the inventions that have been worked out, but which are not yet intro- 
duced. Among the titles of chapters are : Electricity and its Future, Submarine 
Boats, the Kineto-Phonograph, Flying Machines, Horseless Vehicles, The Chain- 
ing of Niagara Falls, Nikola Tesla and His Oscillator, The Electric Eocomotive, 
Conduit Electric Railways, A Hundred and Twenty Miles an Hour, Big Business 
Buildings, Aluminum the Metal of the Future, The Spectroscope, Ocean Grey- 
hounds, Recent Progress in Guns and Armor, Improvements in Telegraphy, 
Extraordinary Bridges, Some Great Tunnels, Progress in Printing, etc., etc. 

A Hand=Book of Industrial Organic Chemistry. 

Adapted for the Use of Manufacturers, Chemists, and all interested in 
the Utilization of Organic Materials in the Industrial Arts. By 
Samuel P. Sadtler, Ph.D., author of “ A Hand-Book of Chemical 
Experimentation,” and Chemical Editor of the “United States 
Dispensatory,” Fellow of the Chemical Societies of London and 
Berlin, of the Society of Chemical Industry, Professor of Organic 
and Industrial Chemistry in the University of Pennsylvania, and 
of Chemistry in the Philadelphia College of Pharmacy, etc., etc. 
Second Edition , revised and enlarged. 8vo. Cloth, $5.00 ; half 
leather, $5.50. 

In the present edition the Bibliography has in all cases been rewritten and 
brought carefully to date. The statistics have also been brought down to the 

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present year wherever new figures were attainable, and a number of new statistical 
tables have been added. 

Bach department of the book contains a brief description of the raw materials, 
the process of manufacture, the products and the means of analyzing them, and 
detecting impurities, and closes with the statistics of the industry and a reference- 
list of the principal works that have appeared on the subject in the last thirty 
years. The diagrams and figures illustrating various processes are excellent, and 
those often-neglected parts of such works as the tables and the index leave nothing 
to be desired. Altogether, the book ought to be in the reference library of every 
factory using either fibres or other organic materials. 


Elements of Modern Chemistry. 

By Charles Adolphe Wurtz. Fifth American edition. Revised and 
enlarged by Wm. H. Greene, M.D., and Harry F. Kellar, Ph.D. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.80 ; sheep, $2. 15. Thoroughly revised. 

In the preparation of the present edition, the aim has been to preserve as nearly 
as possible the original plan and character of the work, but at the same time to 
make such changes as will entitle it to continue to rank as a modern text-book. 
To meet numerous requests, mention has been made of many matters that are of 
special interest to the student of medical chemistry. 

The 21st Edition of Nystrom’s Pocket=Book of 
Mechanics and Engineering. 

Revised, corrected, and greatly enlarged, with addition of original 
matter. By William Dennis Marks, Ph.B., C.E. (Yale S.S.S.) 

Twenty-first Edition , further revised and corrected by Robert 
Grimshaw. Fully illustrated. i6mo. Over seven hundred 
pages. Pocket-book form, gilt edges, $3.50. 

In this revision much new and official information has been substituted for 
what had grown obsolete or was of unknown or questionable authority. In many 
cases (as, for instance, where 62.5 lbs. is given as the weight of a cubic foot of 
water in calculating the pressure on embankments, etc.), where such sufficiently 
approximate figures and constants are given in the twentieth edition as have been 
used for many years, these have been retained, and the latest figures, accurate to 
more than practical limits of decimals, have been added in foot-notes or paren- 
theses, their sources being indicated. 


^ Disinfection and Disinfectants, ^ 

jjj Together with an Account of the Chemical Substances used as Anti- 
A septics and Preservatives. By Samuel Rideal, D.Sc. (Bond.), A 

o Fellow of University College, London ; Fellow of the Institute of y 

M Chemistry and of the Chemical Society ; Member of the Sanitary © 

Ini Institute of Great Britain, and of the Society of Public Analysts, || 

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etc., etc. In one volume. Illustrated. 8vo. Three hundred 
and twenty-eight pages. Cloth, $4.50. 

No recent attempt has been made to summarize and review the very volumin- 
ous literature on the subject of Disinfection, which is scattered through our own 
and foreign Scientific and Medical publications, and, notwithstanding the rapid 
development of Sanitary Science in this country, there does not exist at the 
present time, in the English Language, any book which deals exclusively with the 
composition of Disinfectants. 

The present volume may, therefore, supply a want which has been felt, not 
only by the chemist and bacteriologist, but also by all those who, like medical 
officers of health and borough surveyors, are concerned with the practical work of 
Disinfection. 

Owing to the attention which has been given to bacteriological science during 
the last ten years, the methods of Disinfection are now being reviewed under the 
more exact condition which this knowledge has rendered possible. The time is 
not far distant when the importance of the thorough disinfection of all suspected 
areas will be fully realized by local authorities, and when all such work will be 
entrusted to specially qualified men, instead of being regarded as a subsidiary duty 
of the inspector of nuisances. The Sanitary Institute of Great Britain has for 
some years insisted that the duties of a Sanitary Inspector are such as to necessitate 
a considerable amount of practical experience and scientific knowledge. If, as at 
present, the proper carrying out of the -work of disinfection forms part of their 
duties, the responsibility of such men is considerably augmented. 

Contents. — Chapter I. Introductory. II. Mechanical Disinfection. III. 
Disinfection by Heat. IV. Chemical Disinfectants. The Non-Metallic Elements 
and their Derivatives. V. The Non-Metallic Elements and their Derivatives ( con- 
tinued ). VI. Metallic Salts. VII. Metallic Salts {continued). VIII. Organic 
Substances. IX. Organic Substances {continued). X. Organic Substances {con- 
tinued). XI. Compounds Related to the Alcohols. XII. Practical Methods. XIII. 
Personal and Internal Disinfection— Food Preservation. XIV. Eegal Statutes and 
Regulations. XV. Methods of Analysis. Bibliography. Index. 


A Hand-book of Garment Dyeing and Cleaning. fy) 

By George H. Hurst, F.C.S., Member of the Society of Chemical In- 0 
dustry ; Lecturer at the Municipal Technical School, Manchester ; |j| 

author of “Silk Dyeing, Printing, and Finishing,” “Dictionary a 
of Coal Tar Colours,” etc. With numerous illustrations. i2ino. Wl 

Cloth, $1.75. 0 

This little book has been written to supply a want which exists for a hand- <§> 
book on the processes employed by the garment dyeing and cleaning trades. ^)] 
The writer has endeavored to lay down those principles which underlie the arts A 
under consideration, and to give some idea how those principles are applied in M 
practice, so that a practical man may, when work of a character such as he has (n) 
not previously had comes under his notice, be able to undertake that work satisfac- o 
torily by means of following up the suggestions he mav find embodied in the book 0 

8 A 

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A Text=Book of Chemistry. 

Intended for the Use of Pharmaceutical and Medical Students. By 
Samuel P. Sadtler, Ph.D., F.C.S., Professor of Chemistry in the 
Philadelphia College of Pharmacy, and Henry Trimble, Ph.M., 
Professor of Analytical Chemistry in the Philadelphia College of 
Pharmacy. A handsome octavo volume of nine hundred and 
fifty pages, bound in cloth, $5.00 ; sheep, $6.00. 

It is primarily designed as a text-book for students of both pharmacy and 
medicine, but at the same time it is so arranged that it will be a source of 
reference highly appreciated by the pharmacist and practitioner in professional 
life. 


Open Air Studies. 


An Introduction to Geology Out-of-Doors. By Grenville A. J. Cole, 
M.R.I.A., F.G.S., author of “Aids in Practical Geology.” With 
full-page illustrations from photographs, and figures in the text. 
Crown 8vo. Cloth, $3.00. 

Now that the elements of chemistry and physics are at last taking their place 
in the fundamental courses of self-respecting schools, a large number of persons 
are taking an intelligent interest in the world around them. The author has dealt 
in a wide spirit with the districts referred to, so that the observations may be trans- 
ferred and applied to the immediate surroundings of the reader. 



Petroleum 


A Treatise on the Geographical Distribution, Geographical Occurrence, 
Chemistry, Production, and Refining of Petroleum ; its Testing, 
Transport, and Storage, and the Legislative Enactments relating 
thereto ; together with a description of the Shale Oil Industry. 
By Boverton Redwood, F.R.S.E., F.I.C., Assoc. Inst. C.E., Hon. 
Corr. Mem. of the Imperial Russian Technical Society ; Mem. of 
the American Chemical Society ; Consulting Adviser to the Cor- 
poration of London under the Petroleum Acts, etc., etc. Assisted 
by Geo. T. Holloway, F.I.C., Associate, Royal Coll, of Science. 
Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth. In preparation. 


ft 

ft 



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ft 

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Bleaching and Calico Printing. 

A Short Manual for Students and Practical Men. By George D. 
Duerr, F.C.S. With Illustrations and Printed Specimens designed 
specially to show different stages of the various processes de- 
scribed. Crown 8vo. Cloth. In preparation. 

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Gas Manufacture (The Chemistry of). 

A Hand-Book on the Production, Purification, and Testing of Illumi- 
nating Gas ; and the Assay of Bye-Products of Gas Manufacture. 

By W. J. Atkinson Butterfield, M.A., F.C.S. Crown 8vo. 
Cloth. In preparation . 

General Contents : Raw Materials for Gas Manufacture ; Coal Gas ; Carbu- 
retted Water Gas ; Oil Gas ; Enriching by Light Oils ; Final Details of Manu- 
facture ; Gas Analysis ; Photometry ; Applications of Gas ; Bye-Products. 

Chemical Technology. 

By A. G. Bloxam, Head Chemist, Goldsmith’s Institute, and Bertram 
Blount. Crown 8vo. Cloth. In preparation. 

A Text=Book on Applied Mechanics. 

Specially Arranged for the use of Engineering Students. By Andrew 
Jamieson, M.Inst.C.E., Professor of Electrical Engineering in 
Glasgow and West of Scotland Technical College ; Member of 
the Institute of Electrical Engineers ; Fellow of the Royal 
Society, Edinburgh. Volume I. With two hundred and thirty 
diagrams, folding plate, and examination questions. Crown 8vo. 
Cloth. In press . 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Literary Shrines. 

The Haunts of Some Famous American Authors. 

M.D., Ph.D. Illustrated with four photogravures. i2mo. Crushed buckram 
extra, gilt top, deckle edges, $1.25 ; half calf or half morocco, $3.00. 


By Theodore F. Woefe, ^ 


A Literary Pilgrimage. ^ 

Among the Haunts of Famous British Authors. By Theodore F. Woefe, M.D., A 
Ph.D. Illustrated with four photogravures. i2mo. Crushed buckram extra, IvJ 

gilt top, deckle edges, $1.25 ; half calf or half morocco, $3.00. Two volumes, |y| 

in a box, $2.50 ; half calf or half morocco, $ 6.00 . rv. 

Most charming and valuable books are these graphic accounts of the homes 
and haunts of the most celebrated American and British men of letters. They v* 
are the outcome of months spent among these scenes, and, showing as they do, 
the influence which their surroundings have had upon the various authors, they A 

are indispensable to the reader. As companions to those visiting these scenes, W 

they will be invaluable. £| 

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The Land of the Muskeg. 


By H. Somers Somerset. With over one hundred illustrations and maps. 

Crown 8 vo. Cloth, $4.00. 

This record of Mr. Somerset’s expedition into the heart of the Hudson Bay 
Company’s territory, through Alberta, Athabasca, and British Columbia, will be 
of interest to all lovers of sport and adventure. The work is profusely illustrated 
with over one hundred engravings. 

Advance Japan: 

A Nation Thoroughly in Earnest. By J. Morris, author of “War in Korea.” 

With eighty-three illustrations, and cover, by R. Isayama, military artist of 

the Buzen Clan, Southern Japan. Crown 8vo. Cloth. Illustrated. $4.50. 

The object of the writer has been to illustrate, both in words and in picture, 
the habits and customs of this interesting people. The commerce, the railways, 
and telegraphs, development of mining and ship-building, politics and religion, 
work and play, town and country, are alike brought before the reader in w T ords 
and illustrations. 

The Evergreen. 

A Northern Seasonal. Part I. Spring, 1895. 4to. Full leather, stamped, $ 2.00 . 

As the “Yellow Book” has been the exponent of the Decadent School in 
literature and art, so does this beautiful quarterly represent the new Scottish 
School, which now has the latest attention of the public both here and abroad. 
The literature is most attractive, and the revival of Celtic ornament and design is 
one of the features of the book. “The Evergreen” will be printed on rough 
paper, by Messrs. Constable, of Edinburgh, with colored cover, fashioned in 
leather, by C. H. Mackie. The Book of Spring, now ready, wall be followed in 
September by the book of Autumn. The Book of Summer will appear in May, 
1896, and the Book of Winter in November, 1896. 


(jjj A Holiday in Spain and Norway. 

(jffl By Caroline Earee White, author of “Love in the Tropics,” “A Modern 
JjL Agrippa,” etc. 1 21110. Paper, 50 cents. 

v Every one who has read “Love in the Tropics,” that unusually well-told 

story of the South Seas, will be delighted at the announcement of a new work 
from the same pen. 

*§? Hill Oaves of Yucatan. 

By HENRY C. MERCER. Illustrated. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. 

This is a clever and interesting account of the Corwith Expedition of the 
W University of Pennsylvania in Yucatan, for the exploration of human culture 
jy layers in the mountain caverns, and of proving the antiquity and character of the 
([V Maya civilization in the peninsula. The work is profusely illustrated by photo- 
oui graphs of caves and drawings of cavern refuse exposed in the explorations. 

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Songs and Other Verses. 

By DolliE Radford. A limited edition. i6mo. Cloth, deckel edges, $1.25 net. 
Published in connection with John Lane, of London. 

This book of poems by Dollie Radford, entitled “Songs and Other Verses,” 
possesses a tender delicacy of phrase and chastity of idea, which mark it out for 
special commendation even among the remarkable verse made known to us in the 
last few years. 

From Manassas to Appomattox. 

Being the Memoirs of James Longstreet, Lt.-Gen. C.S.A. One volume. Svo. 
By Subscription only. 

General Longstreet was the most prominent military leader in the Confederate 
ranks, next to General Lee, with whom his relations were most confidential. His 
story of the war is consequently of great value, and necessarily contains much 
new material. 

Agriculture. 

By R. HhdgER Wallace, late Lecturer and Examiner in Agriculture to the 
Education Department of Victoria, and the Victorian Department of Agricul- 
ture. i2ino. Cloth. Illustrated. $1.25. 

This book has been written with the object of placing before the student and 
reader a simple statement of the principles of agriculture, based on general prac- 
tice, and not restricted to any specified country, or adapted to climatic or other 
conditions, since the natural laws on w 7 hich agricultural principles are founded 
are of universal application. 


Bismarck’s Table Talk. 

Edited, w ? ith Notes and an Introduction, by Charles Lowe, M.A., author of 
“Prince Bismarck: an Historical Biography,” etc. With portrait. i2mo. 
Cloth, $2.00. 

The author’s previous volume bears witness to his thorough knowledge of the 
life and character of the greatest modern diplomat. In this work, however, the 
author deals with the more intimate side of Bismarck’s character ; and his eccen- 
tricities, amusing chapters in his life, and witty sayings are fully dealt with. 


Napoleon’s Last Voyages. 

Being the Diaries of Admiral Sir Thomas Ussher, R.N., K.C.B. (on board the 
“Undaunted”), and John R. Glover, Secretary to Rear-Admiral Cockburn (011 
board the “Northumberland”). With explanatory notes and illustrations. 
Crown 8vo. Cloth, $3.00. 

To all interested in Napoleonse these two diaries, now published for the first 
time, cannot fail to cause some stir, detailing as they do the last days of the once 
great conqueror. 

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Tfl The American in Paris. 

jS. By Dr. Eugene C. Savidge, author of the “Life of Benjamin Harris Brewster.” 
i2nio. Cloth, $1.00. 

(AJ hr. Savidge has made a comprehensive picture of the military and diplomatic 

TAf phases of the Franco-Prussian War, including the battle of Sedan, the Siege and 
Commune of Paris, and has woven them into a romance which throws into promi- 
Xr nence not only the figures but the actual authenticated utterances of Bismarck, 
]f}J Moltke, William, Napoleon III., Eugenie, Favre, Thiers, Gambetta, MacMahon, 
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ern Languages. Superior buildings and appointments. 
Illustrated Catalogue. 

Jos. E. King, D.D. 


Connecticut, Bridgeport. 

Golden Hill Seminary for Girls. 


Miss Emily Nelson, 

Miss Anna E. Plympton, 


Principals. 


Pennsylvania, Kingston. 

Wyoming Seminary. 

A large and fully-equipped, co-educational 
school. Average experience of teachers, ten 
years. For Catalogue, address 

L. L. SPRAGUE, D.D., President. 


Pennsylvania, Swarthmore. 

Swarthmore College. 

Under care of Friends. Opens 9th month 17th, 1895. Full 
College Courses fur young men and young women, leading 
to Classical, Engineering, Scientific, and Literary degrees. 
Machine shops, laboratories, and libraries. For catalogue 
and particulars, address 

Charles DeGarmo, Ph.D., President. 


Pennsylvania, Union County, Lewisburg. 

Bucknell Institute. 

Refined Boarding School for Young Ladies. Literary, 
College Preparatory, Music and Art Courses; diplomas; 
large buildings; spacious campus; fourteen teachers. 
Rates, $230 to $260 per year. For year-book, address the 
Registrar, as above. 


Pennsylvania, Union County, Lewisburg. 

Bucknell Academy. 

Home School for Boys and Young Men. Prepares for 
College and Business. Eight teachers; large buildings; 
spacious campus. University privileges. Discipline firm. 
Rates, $185 to $230 per year. For year-book, address the 
Registrar, as above. 


Pennsylvania, Media. 

Media Academy for Boys. 

21st year. Classical, Scientific, English, and Commercial 
Courses. Careful preparation for leading colleges. Excel- 
lent table and all home comforts. Location unsurpassed. 
Send for circular. Chas. W. Stuart, Principal. 


Maryland, Baltimore, 915 and 917 North Charles St. 

Southern Home School for Girls. 

Mrs. W. M. Cary, Miss Cary. 54th year. 

Summer address, Bar Harbor, Maine. 


Maryland, Baltimore, 1405 Park Avenue. 

The Randolph=Harrison Boarding and Day 

School for Girls re-opens Sept. 25, 1895. Resident native 
French and German teachers. Liberal education, College 
Preparation. 

Mrs. Jane Randolph Harrison Randall, Principal. 


Maryland, Baltimore, Northampton. 

Baltimore Kindergarten Association. 

Training School for Kindergartners. Junior, Senior, and 
Graduate Courses; also a Course for Directors of Normal 
Training Classes. Circulars with full particulars. Address, 
Miss Caroline M. C. Hart, Director. 


Maryland, Baltimore, 122 and 124 W. Franklin St. 

Edgeworth Boarding and Day School for Girls. 

College Preparatory, Regular, and Elective Courses. 
Thirty-third year. Re-opens Sept. 26, 1895. 

Mrs. H. P. Lefebvre, Principal. 


Illinois, Woodstock. 

rodd Seminary for Boys. 

An ideal home school for sixty boys, near Chicago. Forty- 
ightli year. , . 

6 NOBLE HILL, Principal. 


23 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES.— Continued. 


Pennsylvania, Bryn Mawr. 

Miss Baldwin’s School for Girls. 

Preparatory to Bryn Mawr College. Within five years 
more than forty pupils have entered Bryn Mawr College 
from this school. Certificate admits to Smith. Vassar, and 
Wellesley. Diploma given in both General and College- 
Preparatory Courses. School building especially constructed 
for school purposes. Tennis Courts and Gymnasium. For 
circulars, address Miss Florence Baldwin, Principal. 


Pennsylvania, Birmingham. 

Mountain Seminary. 

A thorough school for young ladies. Situation noted for 
health. Home comforts. 36th year. Finest school grounds 
in the State (100 acres). New gymnasium. Send for illus- 
trated catalogue. A. R. Grier, Business Manager. 

Miss N. J. Davis, Principal. 


Pennsylvania, Carlisle. 

Metzger College for Young Ladies. 

14th year; new management. Collegiate, College Pre- 
paratory, Special Courses. Graduates or Prepares for any 
college for women. Music. Art. Personal attention. Chris- 
tian influences. Wallace Peter Dick, President. 

(A.B. 1879; A.M. 1882, Brown Univ.) 


Pennsylvania, Haverford. 

Haverford College. 

Nine miles from Philadelphia. For information, address 

The President. 


Pennsylvania, Hollidaysburg. 

Hollidaysburg Seminary for Girls. 

Regular and Special Courses. College Preparation, Music, 
and Art. Home comforts. Address 

Mrs. R. S. Hitchcock. 


Virginia, Warrenton. 

Fauquier Institute for Young Ladies. 

The thirty-fifth year begins Sept. 19th, 1895. Situated in 
Piedmont region of Virginia, on Richmond and Danville 
Railroad, fifty-four miles from Washington. Terms reason- 
able. For catalogue, address 

GEO. G. BUTLER, A.M., Principal. 


Virginia, Bethel Academy. 

Bethel Military Academy. 

Prepares for Universities, Business, and West Point. Terms, 
$200. Northern patronage solicited. Address for catalogue, 
Maj. R. A. McIntyre, Bethel Academy P. O. 


Virginia, Front Royal. 

Rando!ph=Macon Academy. 

A Preparatory School for Boys and Young Men. Thorough 
teaching and training. Beautiful location. Large gymna- 
sium. Session begins September 25, 1895. Send for cata- 
logue to Rev. B. W. Bond, D.D. 

California, Berkeley. 

Miss Head’s School for Girls. 

Special care for health of g;irls. Gymnasium and outdoor 
games. Cheerful family life. Certificate admits to Uni- 
versity of California and Vassar College. 


California, San Rafael. 

Mount Tamalpais Military Academy. 

Classical, Scientific, Literary. Military instruction by an 
U, S. A. officer detailed by the War Department. Term opens 
August 14, 1895. Arthur Crosby. A.M., Head Master. 


Delaware, Wilmington, Franklin Street. 

The Misses Hebb’s English, French, and Ger= 

man Boarding and Day School for Young Ladies and 
Girls re-opens September 24, 1895. 

District of Columbia, Washington. 

National Park Seminary for Young Women. 

Suburbs of Washington, D. C. Collegiate and Seminary 
Courses. Beautiful grounds. $75,000 buildings. A cultured 
home. $350 to $400. Send for illustrated catalogue. 


Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 2037 De Lancey Place. 

Miss Gibson’s Family and Day School for 

Girls. 23d year. Fall term begins September 26, 1895. 
Home pupils limited. Preparation for College. 


Pennsylvania, Philadelphia, 2045 Walnut Street. 

West Walnut Street Seminary 

For Young Ladies. 29th year. Is provided for giving a su- 
perior education in Collegiate, Eclectic, and Preparatory 
Departments; also in Music, Art, and Elocution. 

Mrs. Henrietta Kutz. 


Pennsylvania. Philadelphia, Arch St., below 15th St. 

Neff College of Oratory. 

The most advanced school of the kind in this country. 
New instructive catalogue sent on application. 


Pennsylvania, West Phila., 3509-11-13 Hamilton St. 

English and French Home School for Girls. 


25th year will open September 25, 1895. College prepara- 
tory. Mrs. Annie M. Sutton, ) 

Miss Mary E. Roney, J 1 rmci P ais - 


Pennsylvania, Germantown, 202-4, 335 W. Chelten Ave. 

Miss Mary E. Stevens’s Boarding and Day 

School. 26th year. “Approved” by Bryn Mawr College. 
The Bryn Mawr entrance examinations are held in the 
school by an examiner from the college. School certificate 
admits to Vassar. 


New Jersey, Englewood (14 miles from New York). 

Dwight School for Girls. 

7th Year. New, pleasant home ; finest educational advan- 
tages. College preparation. 

Miss Creighton. Miss Farrar. 


New Jersey, Morristown. 

Miss Dana’s School for Girls. 

Certificate admits to Smith, Wellesley, and Baltimore Col- 
lege. Music and art. Resident native French and German 
teachers. Nearness to New York affords special advantages. 
Boarding pupils, $700.00. 


New Jersey, Red Bank. 

Miss Calhoun and Miss Chamberlain’s 

English, French, and German Home School for Girls. 

College preparation, Art and Music. Beautifully situated 
on the Shrewsbury River. Number limited. Send for cata- 
logue. 


New Jersey, New Brunswick. 

Rutgers Preparatory School for Boys. 

Founded 1766. 

E. R. Payson, Ph.D., Head-master. 


Woman’s Medical College 

OF PENNSYLVANIA. 

The 46th Annual Session opens SeptX'5, 1895. A four years' 
graded course of Lectures, Quizzes, Laboratory and Clinical 
Work, offers superior advantages to students. Address 
Clara Marshall, M.D., Dean, 1712 Locust St., Philadelphia. 


The Leading Conservatory of America. 

Carl Faeltbn, Director. rvtTV 

Founded by E. Tourjie ^ a®' 

in i8 S3- ness. 


giving full i 


Send for Prospectus 
giving full information. 

Frank W. Hale, General Manager. 


24 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



25 



LIP PIN CO TT' S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



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WITH THE WITS. 



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28 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



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29 


WITH THE WITS. 



30 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



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31 



LIPP1N CO TT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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32 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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WITH THE WITS. 



34 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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35 


WITH THE WITS. 



Gratitude. 

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Was thanked, at its conclusion, 

By tall Solemnity, attired 
In opulent profusion. 

“Who are you, sir? I know you not, ,, 
Replied this philter-maker : 

“ Permit me, then,”— he gave his card : 
’Twas Plant, the undertaker. 


36 


LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



BARBOUR'S 

Prize Needlework Series, No. 4. 

Just Issued— 150 Pages— Profusely Illustrated. 

•VTEW and Practical information about the Latest Designs in 
Lace Making, Embroidery and Needlework in Barbour’s 
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Book, No. 4, mailed to any address on receipt of 10 cents. 

THE BARBOUR BROTHERS COMPANY, 

New York. Boston. Philadelphia. Chicago. Cincinnati. 
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servants. 

For sale by all Dry Goods Stores , Upholsterers , 
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Wholesale enquiries should be addressed, 

“ Selvyt” 381 and 383 Broadway, New York. 


A trifle vain 

but commendable — is pride 
in looking well, making and 
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The skin food Milk Weed 
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BEAUTY 

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ANAGRAMS ARE GREAT FUN 

as well as instructive. Good Housekeeping, Springfield, ! 
Mass., will have in its September issue one or two hundred j 
names of leading advertisers and articles. A series of val- j 
uable prizes, bicycles, etc., are offered as prizes. Send 20 
cents to the publishers at once, and get particulars as to 
prizes. 



FEATHERBONINQ 

FOR WAISTS, SLEEVES AND SKIRTS 
Instruction Free 

Call at our parlors— 833 Broadway, New York; 185 
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87 


WITH THE WITS. 




He Guessed Again. 

“ I guess ,’ 1 said Augustus Inane, 

“ I will see you home out of the rain 
But the sensible maid, 

Though in splendor arrayed, 

Turned her back, and remarked, “Guess again.” 




38 



LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 



“The name of the WHITING PAPER COMPANY on a box of sta- 
tionery is a guarantee of excellence.” 

SOCIETY 

has set the seal of its approval on the papers made by the 
Whiting Paper Company, the largest producer in the world of 
fine society stationery. ‘Standard Linen” and “No. i Quality” are the leaders, and 
the name is watermarked in the centre of each sheet. Ask your dealer for “ Whiting’s 
Papers,” and take no substitute. 



WHITING PAPER COMPANY, 


HOLYOKE, NEW YORK, and PHILADELPHIA. 


LIPPINCOTT’S 



Steel pens 


LEADING STYLES: 

No. 50, Falcon; No. 51, Bank; No. 52, Commer- 
cial; No. 59, Premium; No. 60, School; No. 62, 
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75c. per Gross. 

Ask your Stationer for them or send to 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Philadelphia. 
Send IO cent 8 for sample dozen. 


E ST A 


ED 1846. 


FRANKLIN 

PRINTING INK WORKS 

JOHN WOODRUFFS SONS, 

1217 and 1219 Cherry St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



This Magazine is printed with John Woodruff’s Sons’ Inks. 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Lippincott’s Pronouncing 
Gazetteer of the World. 

EDITION OF 1895, WITH LATEST CENSUS RETURNS. 
NEWLY REVISED AND ENLARGED. 


A complete Pronouncing Gazetteer or Geographical Dictionary of the 
World, containing notices of over 125,000 places, with recent and authentic 
information respecting the Countries, Islands, Rivers, Mountains, Cities, 
Towns, etc., in every portion of the globe. Originally edited by Joseph 
Thomas, M.D., LL-D., author of “Lippincott’s Pronouncing Biographical 
Dictionary,” “Thomas’s Pronouncing Medical Dictionary,” etc., etc. 

One imperial 8vo volume of nearly 3000 pages. Library sheep, $12.00 ; half Turkey, 
$ 15.00 ; half Russia, $15.00. Patent Index, 75 cents additional. 

In the preparation of this edition of “ Lippincott’s Pronouncing Gazetteer of the 
World,” not only have notices of a large number of new places been now for the first 
time included in its pages, — places that were unknown when former editions were 
issued, — but the contents of the entire volume have been subjected to such a thorough 
revision as, it is believed, will easily maintain for it the position, which it has so long 
occupied, of being without a rival among works of its class in the English language. 
Especially has it beeu the care of the editors, in the prosecution of their labors, to 
embody in the work such recent information as has lately been rendered available by 
the publication of the new census returns of our own and foreign countries and of other 
kindred works, and to so arrange this information that it will be practically useful for 
casual reference and convenient for those who may desire to make a more thorough 
acquaintance with the minutiae of geographical facts. 

Embraced in the more important improvements in the body of the work may be 
named the revision of the articles on the several States and Territories (including 
articles now first inserted on North Dakota, South Dakota, and Oklahoma) by well- 
known experts in physical and political geography ; the renewed descriptions of the 
principal cities in the United States, chiefly by residents thereof ; notes on recent 
explorations and discoveries by European governments in foreign lands (Asia, Africa, 
etc.), with statistical information relating to the colonies heretofore established there ; 
and a vast number of minor changes in the notices of the cities, towns, and villages of 
our own and foreign countries. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

“ The volume is greatly in advance of any other geographical dictionary in the language, 
and is entitled to a generous welcome from the student of science, the man of business, the 
journalist, and the members of the other learned professions, the men of political office and 
affairs, and the curious readers of the family circle .” — New York Tribune. 

‘‘The value and importance of 4 Lippincott’s Gazetteer of the World’ can scarcely be 
estimated in dollars and cents. Were it impossible to obtain its like, no money would com- 
pensate for its deprivation. It is without a peer in its special design and purpose, and, for 
thoroughness, completeness, and comprehensiveness, is unmatched by any publication of the 
kind in this country, if not in the world. This is not extravagant eulogium, as a careful 
examination of the contents of the ponderous volume will show .” — Chicago Evening Journal. 

“Such a volume as this is the inseparable companion of the unabridged dictionary of the 
language on the table of the writer and reader. It is the invaluable result of vast and intelli- 
gent labor, most appreciated by those who know the most .” — New York Observer. 

‘‘No other work in English, so far as we are aware, rivals this in accuracy and thorough- 
ness, and if the publishers had chosen to continue the issue of the original edition, with only 
such slight revisions as it might have been convenient from time to time to make, there would 
have been little danger of its being superseded by any other work for a considerable time to 
come. At least the work may be described, without exaggeration, as an indispensable one for 
public and private libraries, for students, and for all who desire authentic information concern- 
ing their own and other countries .” — Boston Journal. 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent direct by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, Philadelphia. 


40 


LIPPIN CO TT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 




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LADY’S BICYCLE FREE. 

The September number of Good Housekeeping, Spring- 
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one. Remit for it at once. 


The one perfect lubricant for 
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, Send 12c for sample. 

Jos. Dixon Crucible Co.* Jersey City, N. J. 



41 



WITH THE WITS. 



An Object-Lesson. 

“ My dear boy,” said a teacher, with unction- 
“‘But 7 is only a common conjunction , 77 
Till a billy-goat said, 

“You are slightly misled: 

It’s a verb with a vigorous function . 77 



42 



LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


* , A 



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Without Medicine. 


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“ * * * My ’confidence in the merits of the 
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(Editor Peoples’ Cyclopaedia.) 


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nnnn Pieces of Sheet Music at 10 cents a copy. Also, 
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43 




LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


Worcester’s Unabridged 

Quarto Dictionary. 

Sheep, marbled edges, $10.00; half Turkey morocco, marbled edges, $12.00; half 
Russia, marbled edges, $12.00; half Russia, vermilion edges, $12.50 ; full 
Russia, marbled edges, $16.00 ; full Russia, vermilion edges, $16.50 ; 
full Turkey, marbled edges, $16.00; full Turkey, extra gilt 
edges, $17.00. The above styles with Denison’s 
Patent Index, 75 cents additional. 


7 ] MASSIVE volume of 2126 pages, containing over 120,000 words in its 
@/l vocabulary, with their orthography as sanctioned by the best usage ; 

their pronunciation according to the present usage among scholars, 
literary men, and cultured society ; their definitions in concise, accurate, 
and complete form ; and their etymologies drawn from the most reliable 
sources, and including all the important results of the latest researches 
in philology. 

It contains a New Pronouncing Biographical Dictionary of nearly 
12,000 personages; a New Pronouncing Gazetteer of the World, noting 
and locating over 20,000 places. Containing also a Supplement of over 
12,500 New Words, recently added, together with a table of 5000 words 
in general use, with their synonymes. Illustrated with wood-cuts and full- 
page plates. 

Worcester’s Dictionary is the Standard Authority on all questions of 
Orthography, Pronunciation, or Definition, and is so recognized by all the 
colleges of the country, by the principal newspapers and periodicals, by 
such leaders of American thought as Phillips Brooks, Edward Everett 
Hale, George Bancroft, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Irving, Marsh, Agassiz, 
Henry, etc., and has been publicly recommended as the standard authority 
by the leading newspapers of England and America. Leading book- 
publishers recognize Worcester as the highest authority, and millions of 
school-books are issued every year with this great work as the standard. 


TESTIMONIALS. 

“The new and authentic etymologies, the conciseness and completeness of the defL 
nitions, the nicety with which the different shades of meaning in synonymes are dis- 
tinguished, and the conscientious accuracy of the work in all its departments, give it, 
in my judgment, the highest claims to public favor.” — Wieeiam CuEEEN Bryant. 

“ I am a thorough believer in Worcester’s system of orthography , and I consider 
myself fortunate in possessing a copy of the new edition of a Dictionary which I have 
always regarded as the best in the English language. The biographical and geo- 
graphical matter given in the new issue adds, of course, greatly to the value of the 
work.” — Hon. T. B. Aedrich, Author. Editor Atlantic Monthly. 

“I lose no opportunity of saying that I find Worcester’s large Dictionary the most 
convenient for use, and by far the best authority known to me as to the present use of 
the English language.” — Edward Everett Haee. 

“On questions of orthography I shall make it (Worcester) my standard.” — Hon. 
George Bancroft. 


For sale by all Booksellers } or will be sent direct by 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


44 


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British Letters. 

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JOHN WANAMAKER. 

45 


LIPPINCOTTS MAGAZINE ADVERTISER. 


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It is important to buyers that they should be 
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Sold by all the leading Stationers in the United States and Canada. 



@®®®®@®@®®®®@®® 


Shape 

That 


® 

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® 

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basts 


® 


(ft) 

The imitation ® 
may look like it — ® 
it can’t act like ® 
it — everlasting 
shape is only in 


Fibre 


1 Chamois ® 

® ® 
®®®®®®®@®®@®®®® 


The Greatest Medical Discovery of the Age. 


KENNEDY’S 

MEDICAL DISCOVERY, 


DONALD KENNEDY, of ROXBURY, MASS., 
Has discovered in one of our common 
pasture weeds a remedy that cures every 
kind of Humor, from the worst Scrofula 
down to a common Pimple. 

He has tried it in over eleven hundred 
cases, and never failed except in two cases 
(both thunder humor). He has now in his 
possession over two hundred certificates 
of its value, all within twenty miles of 
Boston. Send postal card for book. 

A benefit is always experienced from 
the first bottle, and a perfect cure is war- 
ranted when the right quantity is taken. 

When the lungs are affected it causes 
shooting pains, like needles passing 
through them ; the same with the Liver 
or Bowels. This is caused by the ducts 
being stopped, and always disappears in 
a week after taking it. Read the label. 

If the stomach is foul or bilious it will 
cause squeamish feelings at first. 

No change of diet ever necessary. Eat 
the best you can get, and enough of it. 
Dose, one tablespoonful in water at bed- 
time. Sold by all Druggists. 



The 
Black 
That 
Lasts 





The black of the NUBI AN 
Fast Black Cotton Dress 
Lining can’t be washed 
out, rubbed out, or faded 
out. It is positively, abso- 
lutely, totally, and forever 
unchangeable, uncrock- 
able and unfadable. 


You can buy it everywhere • 


i t Look for this on the selvage of every yard. 

♦L 

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This BREAD COFFEE is nourishing, supporting, upbuilding. It 
is the long-sought breakfast and supper beverage for children, and for 
adults in whom tea and coffee cause nervousness. Samples free at all 
our offices, sent by mail, for postage. Send for circular. 

N. E, Office. 199 Tremont Street. Boston. I Western Office. 1601 Wabash Avenue. Chicago. 





















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